wm, 


W-O-STODDARD 


THE  RED  MUSTANG 


HARPER'S  YOUNG  PEOPLE'S  SERIES 
NEW  LARGE-TYPE  EDITION 

TOBY  TYLER   James  Otis 

MR.  STUBBS'S  BROTHER James  Otis 

TIM  AND  TIP  James  Otis 

RAISING  THE  "PEARL"  James  Otis 

ADVENTURES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL  W.  F.  Cody 

DIDDIE,  DUMPS  AND  TOT  Mrs.  L.  C.  Pyrnelle 

Music  AND  MUSICIANS Lucy  C.  Lillie 

THE  CRUISE  OF  THE  CANOE  CLUB W.  L.  Alden 

THE  CRUISE  OF  THE  "GHOST" W.  L.  Alden 

MORAL  PIRATES  W.  L.  Alden 

A  NEW  ROBINSON  CRUSOE  W.  L.  Alden 

PRINCE  LAZYBONES  Mrs.  W.  J.  Hays 

THE  FLAMINGO  FEATHER   Kirk   Munroe 

DERRICK  STERLING   Kirk   Munroe 

CHRYSTAL,  JACK  &  Co Kirk   Munroe 

WAKULLA    Kirk    Munroe 

THE  ICE  QUEEN  Ernest  Ingersoll 

THE  RED  MUSTANG  W.  O.  Stoddard 

THE  TALKING  LEAVES  W.  O.  Stoddard 

Two   ARROWS    W.  O.  Stoddard 

HARPER  &  BROTHERS 

PUBLISHERS 


NOW  FOR  SANTA  LUCIA  !" 


BY 

WILLIAM  O.  STODDARD 

Author  of  "THE  TALKING  LEAVES" 


ILLUSTRATED 


HARPER  &  BROTHERS  PUBLISHERS 

NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 


THE  RED  MUSTANG 


Copyright,  1890,  by  Harper  &  Brothers 

Copyright,  1918,  by  William  O.  Stoddard 

Printed  in  the  U.  S.  A. 

B-A 


PS 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  pAGB 

I.     THE  HORSE  AND  His  RIDER     ...  i 

II.     How  CAL  EVANS  RODE  FOR  HELP  .     .  15 

III.  THE  BAND  OF  KAH-Go-Misn  ...  23 

IV.  THE  GARRISON  OF  SANTA  LUCIA  .     .  27 

V.     CAL  AND  THE  CAVALRY  AND  THE  RED 

MUSTANG        .......  32 

VI.    THE  PERIL  OF  SANTA  LUCIA    ...  38 

VII.     BOUND  FOR  THE  BORDER      ....  51 

VIII.     GETTING  READY  TO  CHASE  KAH-GO- 

MISH    .........  56 

IX.    THE  HACIENDA  OF  SANTA  LUCIA  .     .  63 

X.    THE  TARGET  ON  THE  ROCK     ...  67 

XI.    THE  STORY  OF  A  LOG    .....  75 

XII.     PING  AND  THE  COUGAR      .     .     .     .  82 

XIII.  THE  RETURN  OF  KAH-Go-Misn  .     .  89 

XIV.  THE  FOUNTAIN  IN  THE  DESERT    .     .  94 
XV.     LOST  IN  THE  CHAPARRAL    .     .     .     .  101 

XVI.     AN  INVASION  OF  Two  REPUBLICS  .     .  107 

XVII.    How  PING  AND  TAH-Nu-Nu  GOT  TO 

THE  SPRING     .......  JI4 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTEK  PAGE 

XVIII.  How  DICK  PLAYED  SENTINEL  .     .     .  120 

XIX.  BAD  NEWS  FOR  WAH-WAH-O-Bs      .  126 

XX.  How  CAL  STARTED  FOR  MEXICO    .     .  132 

XXI.  THE  MANITOU  OF  COLD  SPRING    .     .  139 

XXII.  ACROSS  THE  DESERT  BY  NIGHT      .     .  144 

XXIII.  AT  THE  RANCH  AND  IN  THE  CHA 

PARRAL       I51 

XXIV.  CAL'S  NIGHT  UNDER  A  TREE  .     .     .  157 
XXV.  A  STRANGE  LETTER  FROM  MEXICO      .  163 

XXVI.  CAL'S  VISITORS  AND  His  BREAKFAST    .  169 

XXVII.  THE  POST-BOY  THAT  GOT  AWAY      .  174 

XXVIII.  THE  MYSTERY  OF  THE  STICKS  .     .     .  180 

XXIX.  How  WOULD  You  LIKE  FIRE?      .     .  186 

XXX.  THE  MANITOU  WATER      .     .     .     .  192 

XXXI.  PULL  STICK  AND  THE  HURRICANE      .  198 

XXXII.  UNDER  A  FALLEN  TREE      ....  204 

XXXIII.  LEAVING  THE  BAD-MEDICINE  CAMP    .  210 

XXXIV.  TAH-Nu-Nu's  DISAPPOINTMENT  .     .  216 
XXXV.  HAND  TO  HAND  BY  FIRELIGHT      .     .  222 

XXXVI.  How  CAL  WAS  LEFT  ALL  ALONE       .  227 

XXXVII.  RESCUED  BY  THE  RED  MUSTANG    .     .  234 

XXXVIII.  How    THEY    ALL    REACHED    SANTA 

LUCIA 239 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

"Now  for  Santa  Lucia!" Frontispiece 

FACING    PAGE 

She  and  Ping  Were  Stealing  Out  upon  the  Broken 

Ledge 86 


"Ugh!"  They  Said,  as  They  Looked  at  Him.    "Kah- 

Go-Mish"  no 


Cal  Took  the  Leaf,  and  Used  His  Knife  for  a  Pen      .     184 


THE  RED  MUSTANG 


THE   RED  MUSTANG: 

A  STORY  OF  THE  MEXICAN  BORDER. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE   HORSE  AND  HIS  RIDER. 

EARLY  one  bright  June  morning,  not  long  ago,  a 
high  knoll  of  a  prairie  in  southern  New  Mexico 
was  occupied  as  it  had  never  been  before.  Rattle 
snakes  had  coiled  there;  prairie-dog  sentinels  and 
wolves  and  antelopes,  and  even  grim  old  buffalo 
bulls,  had  used  that  swelling  mound  for  a  lookout 
station.  Mountains  in  the  distance  and  a  great 
sweep  of  the  plains  could  be  seen  from  it.  Never 
until  that  hour,  however,  since  the  grass  began  to 
grow,  had  precisely  such  a  horse  pawed  and  fretted 
there,  while  precisely  such  a  boy  sat  in  the  saddle 
and  looked  around. 

It  is  very  uncommon  for  a  mustang  to  show  a 
bright  and  perfect  blood  bay  color,  but  this  one  did 
so,  and  it  seemed  as  if  the  glossy  beauty  of  his  coat 
only  brought  out  the  perfection  of  his  shape  and  the 
easy  grace  of  his  movements.  He  was  a  fiery, 


2  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

powerful  fellow,  and  he  appeared  to  have  some 
constitutional  objection  to  standing  still.  The 
saddle  upon  his  back  and  the  bridle  held  by  his  rider 
were  of  the  best  Mexican  workmanship,  silver 
mounted,  the  very  thing  to  complete  the  elegance 
of  the  red  mustang. 

In  the  saddle  sat  a  boy  about  fourteen  years  of 
age,  a  gray-eyed,  brown-haired  young  fellow,  broad- 
shouldered  and  well  made,  whose  sunburned  face 
was  all  aglow  with  health  and  who  seemed  to  feel 
altogether  at  home  in  the  stirrups.  He  wore  a 
palm-leaf  sombrero,  a  blue  flannel  shirt  and  trousers, 
while  the  revolver  case  at  his  belt  and  the  carbine 
slung  at  his  back  added  to  the  dashing  effect  of  his 
outfit. 

"Cowboy!  I  a  cowboy!"  he  exclaimed,  as  the 
mustang  curveted  under  him.  "Look  at  those  cattle  ! 
Look  at  all  those  horses !  I'd  rather  own  Santa 
Lucia  ranch  and  ride  Dick  all  over  the  range,  than 
to  live  in  any  city  I  saw  in  the  Eastern  States. 
Hurrah!" 

An  exultant,  ringing  laugh  followed  the  shout, 
but  he  still  held  in  Dick.  He  took  a  long  look, 
in  all  directions,  as  if  it  were  part  of  his  business 
to  know  if  anything  besides  cattle  were  stirring  be 
tween  that  knoll  and  the  dim,  cloudlike  mountain- 
peaks,  or  the  distant  trees  which  marked  the  horizon 
of  the  plain. 

Cattle  and  horses  enough  were  in  sight,  as  he 
turned  from  one  point  of  the  compass  to  another. 
The  horned  animals  were  not  gathered  in  one  great 
drove,  but  were  scattered  in  larger  and  smaller 
gangs,  here  and  there,  and  were  busily  feeding. 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  3 

Something  like  half  a  regiment  of  horses,  however, 
had  kept  together  somewhat  better,  and  the  red 
mustang  himself  seemed  to  be  taking  an  especial 
interest  in  them. 

aBe  quiet,  Dick,"  said  his  master.  "Are  you  set 
on  springs?" 

A  low  whinny  and  something  like  a  suppressed 
curvet  was  Dick's  reply,  and  it  was  followed  by  a 
sharp  exclamation, 

"Dick,  what's  that?  What's  the  matter  with 
Sam  Herrick?'; 

At  the  same  instant  Dick  was  wheeled  in  an  east 
erly  direction  and  was  permitted  to  bound  away  to 
meet  a  horse  and  rider  who  were  coming  towards 
him  at  furious  speed. 

Hardly  three  minutes  later  both  reins  were  drawn 
so  suddenly  as  almost  to  compel  the  two  quadrupeds 
to  sit  down. 

"What's  the  matter,  Sam?" 

"Indians,  Cal,  Indians!" 

The  news  was  of  an  exciting  character  and  was 
given  with  emphasis,  but  neither  the  voice  nor  the 
face  of  the  black-bearded,  undersized,  knotty-look 
ing  man  who  gave  it  betrayed  the  least  trace  of 
emotion.  It  was  as  if  he  were  mentioning  some 
important  but  altogether  matter-of-course  part  of  a 
cowboy's  daily  business.  He  added,  in  even  a 
quieter  tone  and  manner,  as  his  horse  came  to  a 
standstill,  "I  scored  one  of  'em.  They've  kind  o' 
got  the  lower  drove,  but  mebbe  they  won't  drive 
'em  far.  We  can  race  these  hosses  into  the  timber. 
That's  what  I  came  for,  and  I'm  right  down  glad 
you're  here  to  help." 


4  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

Cal's  eager  young  face  glowed  with  something 
more  than  health,  and  his  eyes  were  flashing,  but  he 
made  an  effort  to  seem  as  calm  and  unconcerned  as 
Sam  Herrick  himself. 

"How  far  away  are  they  now?"  he  asked,  as  he 
followed  Sam's  quick  dash  towards  the  drove  of 
horses. 

"Mebbe  a  mile  'n  a  half.  Mebbe  not  so  much. 
Mebbe  some  more.  All  of  'em,  except  the  braves 
that  took  after  me,  went  for  bosses  and  fresh  beef, 
or  seemed  to.  Guess  we'll  have  time." 

"Will  they  get  many  cattle  ?  Were  there  enough 
of  them  to  gather  the  whole  drove?" 

"They  won't  gather  any  cattle.  It's  a  kind  of 
bufler  hunt  for  'em.  Lots  of  beef  handy.  They 
won't  think  of  driving  off  any  horned  critters.  Too 
slow,  my  boy.  They'll  take  all  the  bosses  they  can 
get,  though,  and  load  'em  up,  too." 

Cal's  face  was  in  strong  contrast  with  the  dark, 
almost  wooden  sternness  of  the  one  he  was  looking 
into  when  he  asked: 

"Sam,  did  you  say  you  killed  one?" 

"Can't  say.  Guess  not.  I  meant  to  mark  him, 
but  it  was  his  pony  that  seemed  to  go  down.  Didn't 
either  of  'em  get  up,  that  I  saw.  He  was  an  awful 
fool  to  follow  me  in  the  way  he  did." 

Sam  was  shouting  at  the  horses  between  his  short, 
jerky  sentences,  and  his  long-lashed,  short-handled 
whip  was  whirling  and  cracking  in  a  way  that  they 
seemed  to  understand. 

"How  many  were  there  of  them?"  asked  Cal,  the 
next  opportunity  he  had. 

"Hosses?     Well,   they  must   have   scooped   the 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  5 

eastern  drove.  More'n  a  hundred  head.  We've 
got  about  two  hundred  here,  but  your  father's  lost 
some  real  good  ones,  this  time.  No  fault  of  mine." 

"I  didn't  mean  horses,"  said  Cal.  "How  many 
Indians?" 

"Oh,  the  redskins?"  said  Sam,  with  a  tremendous 
crack  of  the  long  whip.  "Nobody  can  guess  how 
many.  They  seemed  to  swarm  all  around.  'Paches, 
of  course,  but  it's  a  curiosity  where  they  came  from. 
We  must  work,  now.  Further  to  the  left,  Cal. 
That's  it.  They're  started.  What  are  those  mules 
halting  for!" 

Nearly  a  score  of  long-eared  fellows  knew,  in 
half  a  minute  more,  why  they  were  trying  to  reach 
the  woods  ahead  of  the  horses.  It  must  be  dread 
fully  aggravating  to  any  mule  to  hear  such  a  yell  as 
that  of  Sam  Herrick  behind  him,  and  to  feel  him 
self  whip-stung  somewhere  at  the  same  moment. 

Cal  Evans  whooped  and  shouted  remarkably  well, 
but  there  was  something  sepulchral  and  savage  and 
startling  in  the  sounds  with  which  Sam  encouraged 
the  whole  drove  to  reach  the  long,  irregular  line  of 
trees  and  bushes,  half  a  mile  to  the  southward. 

"Keep  it  up,  Call  Whoop  it!  They're  all 
a-going.  Never  mind  any  cattle.  Whoop  it!" 

"There  come  the  redskins!"  shouted  Cal,  at  that 
moment,  and  then  he  seemed  to  almost  hold  his 
breath. 

"I  saw  'em,"  coolly  responded  Sam.  "We'll  reach 
good  cover  before  they  get  here.  The  drove's  run 
ning  fine." 

Sam  was  cool  enough,  but  every  muscle  of  his 
wiry  body  seemed  to  be  uncommonly  alive,  and  the 


6  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

horse  he  was  on  dashed  hither  and  thither  as  if  he 
also  understood  the  matter. 

"They're  gaining  on  us,"  shouted  Cal,  at  the  end 
of  another  minute.  "More'n  a  dozen  of  'em.  What 
can  we  two  do  against  so  many?" 

"Keep  cool,  Cal.  I'll  show  you  when  we  get  to 
the  timber,"  replied  Sam.  "We're  going  to  save 
every  hoof  of  this  lot,  but  they  may  get  away  with 
the  other  drove.  I'm  only  half  sure  'bout  that, 
though." 

The  mob  of  mules  and  horses  before  them  had 
been  whipped  and  shouted  into  a  furious  run,  and 
the  thud  of  their  hoofs  was  worth  hearing.  The 
best  runners  were  streaming  out  ahead,  and  the 
heavier,  slower  animals  were  sagging  behind  as  a 
sort  of  rearguard.  Sam  worked  vigorously  for  the 
rescue  of  those  slow  horses,  and  he  hardly  turned  his 
head  to  take  a  look  at  the  Indians.  Cal  imitated 
him  as  well  as  he  could,  except  about  the  looking, 
and  with  every  bound  of  the  red  mustang  he  justified 
Sam's  remark : 

"He  rides  like  an  Indian.  Isn't  he  a  fine  young 
feller?  Reckon  the  old  colonel  '11  say  I  was  right. 
I'll  save  his  boy  for  him  if  I  have  to  lose  the  whole 
drove — and  my  own  hair,  too;  but  they  won't  get 
that  for  nothing." 

Cal  Evans  could  not  know  what  was  passing  in 
the  mind  of  the  swarthy  cowboy.  His  own  brain 
and  every  nerve  of  his  body  seemed  to  be  all  a  tingle 
of  excitement.  He  was  now  able  to  think  about 
it  and  to  be  proud  that  he  felt  no  fear.  That  is, 
no  fear  concerning  anything  but  the  horses. 

On,  on,  on,  went  that  tumultuous  race,  and  the 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  7 

line  of  forest  was  very  near  now.  It  was  a  sort  of 
natural  barrier,  stretching  across  the  plain  as  if  put 
there  to  check  the  sweep  of  "norther"  storms  and 
prairie  fires,  and  any  sort  of  stampedes.  The  mid 
dle  of  it  was  a  winding  ravine  or  slough,  and  at 
some  seasons  it  was  a  river,  instead  of  a  string  of 
ponds  for  buffalo  wallows.  All  the  wild  or  tame 
quadrupeds  on  that  plain  knew  the  value  of  Slater's 
Branch,  and  some  of  them,  and  all  of  the  men,  knew 
that  it  never  quite  went  dry,  and  that  its  faculty  to 
become  a  river  could  be  exercised  at  any  time  on 
short  notice,  when  the  snow  in  the  mountains 
melted  rapidly  or  when  a  cloud-burst  came  on  this 
side  of  the  Sierra. 

The  trees  and  bushes  knew  all  about  Slater's 
Branch,  and  they  came  and  settled  for  life  on  its 
banks,  making  a  timber-belt  thick  and  tall,  with  here 
and  there  dense  undergrowths  for  the  deer  to  lie  in. 

Cal  Evans  could  not  quite  understand  the  present 
value  of  that  line  of  forest,  and  yet  he  felt  that  it 
had  a  sort  of  sheltering  look,  and  he  was  particularly 
glad  to  be  galloping  nearer  and  nearer,  for  there 
was  an  unpleasant  chorus  of  whoops  and  yells  only 
about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  behind  him,  and  it  was 
manifestly  growing  louder. 

"Cal,"  growled  Sam  Herrick,  "they've  gobbled 
bosses  enough  for  this  trip.  They  can't  have  any 
more  out  of  your  father's  corral.  The  critters  are 
getting  into  cover.  Keep  cool,  Cal.  We  may  have 
to  throw  lead,  some ;  but  I  reckon  not  much." 

"Won't  they  follow  us  into  the  woods,  then?" 
asked  Cal,  doubtfully. 

"That's  the  question,"  replied  Sam.     "If  they're 


8  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

young  bucks  they  may;  but  not  if  there's  a  chief  or 
an  old  brave  among  'em.  I'll  show  you." 

Cal  was  conscious  of  understanding  the  feelings  of 
young  braves  who  needed  an  old  chief  to  hold  them 
back.  He  knew  that  it  would  be  almost  a  disap 
pointment  if  he  and  Sam  should  succeed  in  saving  the 
horses  without  any  shooting.  He  had  no  desire  to 
hurt  anybody  or  to  be  hurt,  but  then  the  idea  of  a 
skirmish  and  a  victory  and  all  that  sort  of  glory 
made  him  think  of  all  the  Indian  battles  he  had  ever 
read  about. 

Sam  Herrick  was  armed  to  the  teeth,  as  became  a 
cowboy  in  that  region,  and  yet  it  had  been  a  long 
time  since  any  hostile  savages  had  troubled  it.  The 
herds  and  droves  had  multiplied,  year  after  year, 
almost  unmolested,  for  the  Apache  bands  were 
either  driven  over  the  Mexican  border,  or  into  Ari 
zona,  or  were  gathered  on  their  reservations.  If 
Cal  had  been  asked,  that  morning,  why  he  carried  his 
own  weapons,  his  best  excuse  would  have  been 
"I  thought  I  might  hunt  a  little,"  and  his  real  reason 
would  not  have  been  told  unless  he  had  said :  "I  love 
a  gun,  and  I'd  rather  carry  one  than  not,  and  a  fel 
low  can  keep  thinking  what  he'd  do  with  it  if  he  had 
a  chance." 

He  had  not  tried  to  do  any  hunting,  but  his 
chance  to  do  something  else  had  come,  or  it  looked 
like  it,  very  suddenly. 

"There,  Cal.     Glad  we're  here—" 

Sam  Herrick  said  that  as  he  reined  in  his  horse 
and  sprang  to  the  ground.  Cal  followed  his  exam 
ple,  and  one  glance  around  him  made  him  draw  a 
breath  of  relief.  There  were  great  oaks,  in  all  di- 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  9 

rections.  Several  of  the  largest  had  fallen  before 
the  hands  of  time  and  some  strong  wind,  and  he  and 
Sam  had  ridden  in  behind  them,  followed  by  a  gust 
of  angry  whooping. 

"Take  your  tree,  Cal,"  said  Sam,  as  he  raised  his 
repeater  and  sent  a  warning  shot  in  the  direction  of 
the  whoops.  "Now,  my  boy,  if  you  was  one  of 
them  'Paches,  how'd  you  feel  about  riding  into  short 
range  of  two  good  rifles,  knowing  what  lead'll  do  for 
a  careless  Indian?" 

"I'd  think  twice  about  it,"  said  Cal,  "and  so  '11 
they;  but  they  may  ride  into  cover  above  or  below  us, 
and  creep  up.  There's  more  than  a  dozen  of 
'em." 

"Another  time,  perhaps,  they  might,"  said  Sam, 
"but  this  isn't  that  other  time.  They  haven't  any 
to  spare  for  scouting  and  skirmishing  if  they're  to 
get  away  with  their  plunder.  You  and  I  can  stand 
'em  off.  Let  drive,  Cal!  They're  riding  in  too 
near." 

Crack,  crack,  went  the  two  rifles,  although  the  dis 
tance  was  over  three  hundred  yards. 

"I  declare !"  exclaimed  Sam.  -  "One  of  us  has 
knocked  over  a  cow,  on  the  rise,  away  beyond. 
They've  seen  it,  though,  and  it's  a  good  notice  to 
'em.  There's  just  one  thing  troubles  me.  Word 
ought  to  be  sent  to  the  ranch.  They  ought  to  be 
warned  before  any  mischief  comes  to  'em.  I  don't 
half  know  what  to  do." 

He  fired  again,  as  if  in  vexation  as  well  as  in 
doubt,  and  the  red  men  wheeled  away  as  they  also 
were  uncertain  what  to  do  next. 

Cal   was   silent   for    a    moment,    but    a   terrible 


io  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

thought  had  flashed  into  his  mind.  The  ranch  was 
his  home. 

"Sam,"  he  said,  in  a  changed,  anxious  voice,  "is 
there  any  danger  to  them?  I  could  dodge  these 
fellows.  I  could  carry  the  warning." 

"I'd  never  answer  to  your  father  for  letting  you 
run  any  risk,  Cal.  You're  perfectly  safe  here,  but 
it  might  be  an  awful  race  to  Saint  Lucy." 

Sam  Herrick's  idea  of  perfect  safety  was  all  his 
own,  but  Cal  responded: 

"I'd  be  just  as  safe  on  Dick's  back.  There  isn't 
a  horse  in  New  Mexico — " 

"I  know,"  said  Sam,  "but  a  bullet  or  an  arrer  '11 
out-travel  any  hoss  living.  If  you  could  ride  along 
under  cover,  to  the  left,  'bout  half  a  mile,  and  set 
off  behind  the  herd,  without  their  sighting  you — " 

"Yes,"  said  Cal,  "but  why  can't  you  come  along 
and  get  to  the  ranch  with  me?" 

"My  name's  Sam  Herrick,  and  I  never  went  back 
on  myself  since  I  was  born.  Colonel  Evans's  bosses 
was  in  my  keep,  and  nigh  half  on  'em's  gone,  and  I'm 
bound  to  save  the  other  half.  I  can  stand  off  this 
lot  of  red-skins.  They  haven't  an  hour  to  throw 
away,  and  they  know  it.  Mount  and  ride !  Good 
bye,  Cal.  You're  taking  all  the  risk  there  is." 

Cal  sprang  to  the  saddle,  shook  Sam's  hand,  and 
cantered  away  through  the  trees,  but  he  did  not  hear 
the  muttered  words  of  the  man  who  watched  his 
departure. 

"I  reckon,"  said  Sam,  "that  was  the  only  way  I 
could  have  got  him  to  try  it  on.  He's  clear  grit,  like 
his  father,  and  he'd  have  stayed  to  fight  it  out  in  this 
here  death-trap.  I  couldn't  bear  to  have  'em  get 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  n 

him.  Besides,  what  I  told  him  may  be  true.  He 
may  be  saving  the  women  folks  at  the  ranch,  and 
perhaps  these  chaps  won't  ride  in.  I'll  give  'em  a 
shot,  now  and  then,  till  he's  well  away." 

Sam  seemed  wonderfully  relieved,  as  if  a  great 
load  had  been  taken  off  his  mind.  It  was  a  great 
thing  to  him  to  have  nothing  but  Apaches  to  watch 
and  to  have  no  awful  responsibility  concerning  the 
boyish  rider  of  the  red  mustang. 

If  one  of  Sam's  troubles  had  been  in  some  small 
part  removed,  there  was  another  question  which 
from  time  to  time  came  to  his  lips,  and  he  now 
seemed  almost  satisfied  with  his  own  answer. 

"Where  did  they  come  from?  Well,  I'd  say  they 
was  from  the  Mescalero — 'Pache  reservation,  east 
of  the  mountains.  They  got  tired  of  being  cooped 
up  on  poor  rations.  How'd  they  get  through  at 
El  Paso  ?  I  don't  know  how.  Where  '11  they  go 
next?  I  don't  know  that,  neither." 

When  Sam  first  saw  those  Indians  that  morning, 
no  time  at  all  was  given  him  for  taking  notes.  He 
had  been  suddenly  compelled  to  put  spurs  to  his 
horse  and  to  ride  for  his  life.  He  had  been  fol 
lowed  by  the  only  Indians,  out  of  more  than  a  hun 
dred,  that  were  mounted,  for  all  the  rest  were  on 
foot.  The  hundred,  and  as  many  more  as  there 
might  be,  included  dozens  of  warriors,  besides 
squaws  and  children.  There  were  a  score  of  heavily 
laden  pack-ponies,  besides  the  ponies  ridden  by  the 
mounted  braves,  but  that  band  was  particularly  in 
need  of  the  kind  of  property  which  Sam  Herrick 
had  been  set  to  guard.  .He  guessed  very  correctly 
about  them.  They  had  broken  away  from  the  region 


12  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

of  country  set  apart  as  their  reservation,  for  what 
they  deemed  good  reasons.  They  had  taken  with 
them  only  such  few  miserable  ponies  as  a  series  of 
disastrous  seasons  had  left  them. 

They  saw  Sam  before  he  saw  them;  for,  in  spite 
of  his  customary  watchfulness,  he  had  been  taking 
things  lazily.  They  had  no  idea  of  a  grand  prize 
so  near  at  hand,  and  the  news  brought  back  by  their 
scouts  who  first  made  the  discovery  came  as  a  thrill 
ing  surprise  to  the  entire  band.  All  the  voices  of 
all  the  dusky  men,  women,  boys,  and  girls,  exclaimed 
"Ugh!" 

That  was  followed  by  silence  and  by  crouchings 
in  the  grass  and  behind  ant-hills.  The  pack-ponies 
were  led  back  a  little  distance.  A  tall  warrior  on 
foot  gave  orders  with  motions  of  his  hands,  hardly 
uttering  a  sound,  and,  in  obedience  to  his  directions, 
warriors,  squaws,  boys,  and  even  girls,  darted  off  to 
the  right  and  left. 

The  horses  were  feeding  quietly,  and  were  not 
widely  scattered,  and  Sam  Herrick  sat  in  the  saddle, 
looking  at  them  listlessly  and  not  dreaming  of  peril 
to  them  or  to  himself.  He  did  not  see  the  dusky 
forms  which  were  creeping  behind  tufts  and  knolls 
behind  him  and  away  on  either  side  of  him.  So 
it  came  to  pass  that  when,  at  last,  all  was  ready,  and 
the  braves  who  had  ponies  came  galloping  towards 
him,  it  was  just  as  he  afterwards  described  it  to  Cal 
Evans,  "the  prairie  seemed  to  swarm  with  them." 
His  only  course  was  to  dash  away  at  the  best  speed 
of  his  horse,  and  the  squad  that  followed  him  had 
cared  very  little  whether  or  not  they  should  catch 
him,  except  to  prevent  him  from  carrying  news  of 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  13 

their  arrival.  Their  miserable  used-up  ponies  had 
been  no  match  for  the  racer  he  was  riding,  but  the 
whole  band  seemed  likely  to  be  better  mounted, 
speedily,  than  it  ever  had  been  before. 

There  was  very  little  whooping  done  by  the  horse 
collectors,  for  there  was  no  wish  to  cause  a  stampede. 
The  first  horses  caught  and  mounted  were  employed 
to  catch  others,  and  the  packs  of  the  pack-ponies 
were  rapidly  searched  for  lariats  and  bridles.  Of 
course  there  was  more  than  a  little  dismounting  as 
well  as  mounting,  for  a  number  of  unbroken  colts 
did  their  entire  duty  in  the  way  of  refusing  to  be 
ridden  barebacked.  That  would  have  been  better 
fun  at  any  other  time.  Just  now  it  was  a  delay, 
and  so  a  probable  danger,  and  some  of  the  most 
vigorous  kickers  carried  their  point,  and  were  driven 
away  instead  of  being  ridden. 

There  was  work  for  the  entire  band,  for  the  cattle 
were  next  attended  to,  and  once  more  Sam  Herrick 
proved  to  be  a  good  guesser.  Beef  was  wanted, 
but  not  on  the  hoof,  and  horse  after  horse  and 
mule  after  mule  was  laden  with  fresh  meat.  A 
poor,  hungry,  dismounted  gang  of  Apaches,  es 
caped  from  their  reservation  limits,  had  suddenly 
become  almost  rich.  Not  a  soul  of  them  had  ever 
been  taught  that  there  was  anything  unlawful  in 
what  they  were  doing,  and  there  was  glee  all  around, 
marred  only  by  the  fact  that  there  was  nothing  there 
to  cook  with,  and  by  the  fear  that  the  solitary  cow 
boy  might  get  away  and  bring  a  lot  of  angry  pale 
faces  to  take  that  magnificent  plunder  away  from 
them.  All  of  that  wide  plain  had  once  been  Apache 
land,  with  its  buffalo,  its  deer,  and  its  other  game, 


i4  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

and  whatever  might  now  be  found  upon  it  by  a  band 
who  considered  themselves  very  good  Indians,  was 
fair  game  for  them.  They  believed  themselves  to 
have  been  plundered  by  the  whites,  and  to  be  now 
obtaining  something  like  a  part  payment  for  their 
lost  rights.  Sam  Herrick,  standing  behind  the  fallen 
trees,  rifle  in  hand,  was  obstinately  interfering  with 
their  effort  to  secure  a  much  larger  and  better  pay 
ment  of  the  same  old  debt. 


CHAPTER  II. 

HOW   CAL  EVANS  RODE   FOR  HELP. 

*  I  ^HE  excited  boy  on  the  red  mustang  was  not 
A  allowed  to  use  his  own  judgment  altogether  as 
to  the  right  place  for  riding  out  from  the  forest. 
Hundreds  and  hundreds  of  cows  and  bulls  and  oxen 
took  that  important  matter  into  their  own  hoofs. 
They  had  not  been  so  sensitive  as  the  horses,  and 
had  not  been  whipped  or  shouted  at.  They,  there 
fore,  had  not  been  stampeded  so  quickly,  but  they 
went  wild  enough  as  soon  as  the  craze  took  them. 
They  may  have  been  wondering  whether  a  norther  or 
a  prairie-fire  or  a  travelling  earthquake  were  after 
Sam  and  Cal  and  the  horses  when  over  the  grassy 
rolls  came  that  squad  of  yelling  red-men.  The 
whoops  were  an  awful  noise  to  hear,  and  one  very 
thin,  respectable  old  cow  set  off  at  once.  In  an 
other  moment  there  were  tossing  horns  and  anxious 
bellowing  in  all  directions,  while  some  half-grown 
calves  threw  up  their  heels  and  followed  the  cow. 
A  wiry,  vicious-looking  ox,  with  only  one  horn, 
punched  with  it  the  ribs  of  his  next  neighbor.  That 
example  spread  like  wildfire;  and  something  said 
by  the  widest-horned,  longest-legged,  deepest- 
throated  old  bull  may  have  really  meant: 

"Now — ow,  every  fellow  bellow  and  run  like  all 
ruin — uin — uin !" 

15 


16  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

Run  like  ruin  they  did,  and,  of  course,  they  broke 
for  the  timber,  although  the  Indians  who  were 
threatening  Sam  Herrick  were  right  ahead  of  them. 
If  a  regiment  of  infantry  had  been  in  the  way  it 
would  have  been  scattered  all  the  same,  and  what 
were  a  dozen  or  so  of  mere  pony-riders?  Sam  was 
safe  among  his  fallen  trees,  but  the  Indians  had  to 
get  out  of  the  way  of  that  stampede.  Cal  Evans 
saw  the  cattle  coming,  and  he  had  his  wits  about 
him. 

"Hurrah!"  he  shouted.  "I'll  put  them  between 
me  and  the  redskins.  Now,  Dick,  it's  our  chance." 

The  red  mustang  knew  that  he  had  been  called 
upon.  There  was  a  whinny,  a  bound,  a  swift  dash 
of  nearly  two  minutes  into  the  open  plain,  and  then 
a  burst  of  whooping  announced  that  he  and  his  rider 
had  been  seen. 

What  of  that,  when  all  that  tumult  of  tossing 
horns  was  streaming  along  behind  them,  putting 
its  barrier  between  Cal  and  the  nearest  Apache  war 
rior?  Follow  him?  What  would  ponies  already 
overdriven  be  worth  behind  the  long,  swinging, 
elastic  bounds  of  the  red  mustang? 

"Hurrah,  Dick!  There's  no  other  such  horse 
living!  Hurrah!" 

On,  on,  on!  and  there  was  no  need  of  a  trail  to 
follow,  for  Sam  Herrick's  last  advice  had  been, 
"Ride  due  north,  Cal,  and  you  won't  lose  any 
distance." 

At  that  very  moment  the  brave  cowboy  was 
watching  the  course  of  events  almost  breathlessly, 
but  the  only  token  of  excitement  was  a  glitter  in  his 
black  eyes,  until  he  exclaimed, 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  17 

"Colorado!  Cal's  safe!  The  critters  have  done 
it.  They've  done  me  a  good  turn,  too,  if  I  can 
manage  to  keep  out  of  their  way." 

He  sprang  to  the  saddle,  and  hurried  along  deeper 
into  the  forest.  Just  as  the  foremost  bulls  were 
charging  in  among  the  trees,  Sam  rode  out  into  an 
open  place  on  the  bank  of  Slater's  Branch.  It  was 
bare  of  trees,  but  it  was  thronged  with  horses,  and 
so  was  the  wide,  shallow  pool  beyond ;  and  now  they 
all  heard  once  more  the  crack  of  Sam's  whip. 

"The  horned  critters  won't  stop,"  he  said  to  him 
self,  "till  their  hoofs  are  in  the  mud.  The  redskins 
may  follow  'em,  but  there's  time  to  put  the  hosses 
on  the  other  side." 

There  was  fright  enough  among  them  to  prevent 
any  delay,  and  the  last  mule  was  braying  upon  the 
opposite  bank  in  reply  to  a  shout  of  Sam's,  when  the 
cattle  began  to  show  in  the  open  space.  Bushes  and 
trees  had  checked  the  stampede  somewhat,  but  there 
were  bellows  of  pleasure  all  along  the  line — bellows 
of  all  sorts  and  sizes,  as  if  calf  and  cow  and  patri 
arch  alike  found  mental  relief  in  a  sight  of  Slater's 
Branch. 

"Colorado!"  exclaimed  Sam;  "all  the  critters  are 
as  nigh  safe  as  I  can  make  'em.  I'm  free,  now, 
to  pick  my  way  back  to  Saint  Lucy.  Redskins  '11  go 
slow  through  timber  with  a  rifle  in  it.  If  the  whole 
band  came  I'd  be  of  no  manner  of  use.  They  can't 
catch  Dick  now  he's  got  a  clear  start.  Cal's  safe; 
but  what  I  want  now  is  a  fresh  mount.  I've  taken 
twenty  odd  miles  out  of  this  one,  and  I  may  have 
racing  to  do.  That  gray's  about  X." 

The  gray  he  singled  out  was  caught  and  saddled 


1 8  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

and  bridled,  but  no  ordinary  groom  could  have 
performed  that  feat.  Neither  could  any  timid 
horseman  have  compelled  the  gray  to  give  up  the 
disposition  he  had  for  dancing  horse-waltzes  and 
polkas  among  the  trees.  Sam  did  it,  and  forced  him 
to  go  ahead  with  not  more  than  three  or  four  gaits 
at  once. 

"More  fire  and  more  mischief  and  more  good 
running  in  him,"  he  remarked,  exultingly.  "Noth 
ing  could  catch  him,  unless  it  might  be  Cal's  red 
mustang.  My  chance  is  a  heap  better  than  it  was." 

He  seemed  to  have  a  habit  of  talking  to  some  im 
aginary  companion.  Men  who  pass  much  of  their 
time  alone  are  very  apt  to  get  such  a  habit,  but  men 
who  live  among  crowds  never  do.  Away  he  went  a 
mile  or  more  down  the  Branch,  until  he  came  to  a 
place  where  he  could  cross  it  almost  dryshod. 

"The  'Paches  won't  come  this  way,"  he  remarked. 
"They'll  either  try  to  strike  Saint  Lucy,  or  else 
they'll  head  for  the  Mexican  line  with  their  plunder." 

Sam  could  make  his  calculations  as  coolly  as  if  the 
Apaches  had  been  so  many  peaceable  traders,  but 
there  was  only  one  thought  in  the  mind  of  Cal 
Evans.  It  grew  as  he  rode,  and  it  kept  his  mind  in 
a  sort  of  mingled  fever  and  chill. 

"The  ranch  and  everybody  in  it!  If  father  is 
there  he  might  take  them  for  friendly  Indians  until 
it  would  be  too  late.  He  isn't  likely  to  be  there. 
Men  all  gone!  Mother  is  there!  Vic  is  there!" 

Cal's  thoughts  took  terrible  shapes  as  he  galloped 
onward,  borrowing  horrors  from  all  he  had  ever 
heard  of  the  deeds  of  pitiless  savages.  More  than 
once  a  fierce  kind  of  shout  burst  from  him,  but  he 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  19 

had  no  need  for  urging  Dick.  The  red  mustang's 
racing-blood  was  up,  as  if  he  knew  that  he  were 
riding  a  great  match  against  danger  and  death.  He 
responded  to  his  master  with  a  short,  excited  whinny, 
and  seemed  to  lengthen  the  splendid  stride  that 
swept  the  miles  away.  He  had  been  set  free  to  run 
his  best  and  wildest,  with  only  a  light  weight  to 
carry,  and  the  distance  vanished  behind  him. 

Cai  had  ridden  Dick  more  than  once  when  there 
were  running  deer  to  catch,  and  had  thought  him  a 
miracle  of  speed,  but  now  there  were  moments  when 
he  almost  found  fault  with  him  for  going  slowly. 
That,  too,  with  the  warm  wind  whistling  past  him, 
and  his  own  best  horsemanship  called  for  to  keep 
the  saddle.  He  guided  Dick  a  little  with  reference 
to  burrows  and  ant-hills.  He  knew  that  there  were 
no  ravines  worth  mentioning.  He  even  kept  a  look 
out  for  possible  Indians  between  him  and  the  north 
ern  horizon. 

"I'll  charge  through  them  if  I  do  see  any,"  he 
said  to  Dick. 

His  face  had  undergone  a  change  for  the  time, 
and  was  hardly  boyish,  it  was  so  full  of  desperate 
determination  and  awful  anxiety.  He  was  riding  for 
the  safety  of  his  home — of  his  father,  mother,  sister. 
At  last  before  him  arose  a  long,  gentle  roll  of  prairie 
that  he  seemed  to  know. 

"Mother!"  burst  from  him,  as  Dick  sprang  up 
the  slope,  and  at  the  crest  of  it  the  good  horse  was 
reined  in. 

"Santa  Lucia !  The  ranch !  AH  right  yet,  and 
not  an  Indian  to  be  seen.  Hurrah  for  Dick !" 

He  deserved  it,  although  he  did  not  look  is  if  he 


20  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

had  been  specially  exerting  himself.  There  was 
hardly  a  fleck  of  perspiration  upon  his  glossy  coat, 
and  he  drew  only  two  or  three  long  breaths,  not 
so  much  because  he  needed  them,  perhaps,  as  that  he 
also  was  relieved  at  finding  everything  serene  about 
the  ranch. 

It  was,  in  fact,  a  very  picture  of  peace  that  lazy 
summer  morning.  The  stout  stockade,  containing 
fully  two  acres  of  ground  around  the  spring  and 
the  buildings,  seemed  almost  deserted,  except  for  a 
few  cows,  some  dogs,  and  a  couple  of  tethered 
horses.  The  house  itself,  of  one  story,  built  of 
large  blocks  of  sunburned  "adobe,"  made  three 
sides  of  a  square,  the  main  entrance  being  through  a 
gateway  in  the  palisades  and  covered  veranda  that 
guarded  the  fourth  side.  Each  face  was  over  fifty 
feet  long,  and  the  outer  windows  were  mere  slips. 
The  Spanish  Mexicans  who  built  Santa  Lucia,  years 
and  years  ago,  had  planned  it  for  a  pretty  strong 
fort  as  well  as  dwelling,  and  Cal  Evans  felt  very 
kindly  towards  them  at  the  present  moment. 

The  gate  of  the  stockade  was  wide  open,  un 
guarded,  and  he  dashed  through  it  and  up  to  the 
house  in  a  manner  which  attracted  attention.  The 
sound  of  a  piano  ceased  at  once,  and  a  dignified 
elderly  lady,  who  came  out  to  the  veranda,  was 
quickly  joined  by  a  younger  and  slighter  form. 

"Cal,"  exclaimed  the  latter,  "has  anything  hap 
pened  to  father?" 

"No,  Vic,  nothing  much  has  happened — not 
yet — " 

"Cal,  something  has  happened!  What  is  it?" 
said  the  old  lady,  with  a  quick  flush  of  anxiety. 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  21 

"I  must  out  with  it.  The  Apaches  have  scooped 
the  lower  drove,  every  horse.  They  came  for  the 
upper  drove,  but  Sam  and  I  got  them  into  the 
timber — " 

"Was  he  hurt?"  asked  Mrs.  Evans. 

"No,  mother,  but  he  isn't  safe  yet — "  and  Cal 
went  on  to  give  a  rapid  account  of  all  he  knew. 

Sam  Herrick  himself  could  hardly  have  shown 
better  nerve  than  did  Cal's  mother.  She  grew 
calm  and  steady-eyed  as  she  listened,  but  Victoria's 
pretty  face  paled  and  reddened  again  and  again, 
for  she  was  hardly  two  years  older  than  her 
brother. 

"Oh,  if  only  father  were  here !"  she  said. 

"Where's  he  gone?"  asked  Cal. 

"Out  on  the  range,"  replied  his  mother.  "He 
and  all  of  them  will  come  in  at  the  first  sign  of  dan 
ger.  Everybody  knew  that  the  Indians  were  dis 
satisfied,  but  I  didn't  dream  of  their  coming  this 
way." 

"They  wanted  horses,  mother,  and  they  may  try 
and  strike  the  ranch,"  said  Cal. 

"I  think  not,"  she  said,  decidedly,  "but  you  must 
carry  the  news  to  Fort  Craig." 

"And  leave  you  and  Vic  here  ?     Never !" 

"You  must  not  pause  one  minute.  Not  even  to 
eat.  Victoria  and  I  and  the  servants  can  bar  the 
stockade  and  the  house,  but  no  Indians  will  come. 
If  there  is  really  any  danger,  the  sooner  the  cavalry 
get  here  the  better.  Do  you  think  you've  tired 
Dick?" 

"No,  mother,  but  it  seems  as  if  I'd  rather  die 
than  leave  you  here  alone." 


22  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

"Ride  for  our  safety,  my  son.  Ride  steadily. 
It's  a  long  push  for  any  horse,  and  Dick  must  last 
till  you  get  there." 

"Yes,  mother,"  said  Cal,  "but  he  can  do  it." 

"Leave  your  rifle,"  she  added.  "You'll  not  need 
it,  and  it's  an  extra  weight." 

She  did  not  let  him  forget  to  water  the  red  mus 
tang,  and  while  Dick  was  drinking  she  packed  a 
small  haversack  with  cold  meat  and  bread  for  Cal's 
use  on  the  road. 

He  was  ready  to  mount. 

"Oh,  mother,  I  want  to  stay  and  fight  for  you 
and  Vic—" 

"Bring  the  cavalry !  Go  1"  she  said,  and  it  seemed 
to  cost  her  something  to  say  it. 

He  hardly  knew,  after  he  was  in  the  saddle,  in 
what  words  he  put  his  good-bye.  He  saw  two  faces 
that  watched  him  as  Dick  sprang  through  the  gate. 
It  seemed  almost  as  if  he  had  seen  them  for  the 
last  time,  and  then  he  thought,  again,  that  perhaps 
the  best  hope  for  Santa  Lucia  and  all  in  it  had  been 
confided  to  the  swift  feet  of  the  red  mustang. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  BAND  OF  KAH-GO-MISH. 

NEW  MEXICO  is  a  wonderful  country.  It  is 
full  of  places  that  are  worth  going  to  see, 
while  some  of  its  other  places  are  well  worth  keep 
ing  away  from.  Down  through  the  territory,  east 
of  the  middle,  runs  north  and  south  the  main  range 
of  the  Rocky  Mountains.  Among  them  rise  the 
Picos  and  the  Canadian  and  several  other  rivers  that 
run  away  to  the  south  and  east.  Westerly  from  the 
main  range,  with  marvellous  valleys  between,  are  the 
Organ  Mountains,  made  to  show  what  strange 
shapes  vast  masses  of  rock  can  be  broken  into. 
Farther  westward  is  the  great  valley  of  the  Rio 
Grande  and  beyond  this  arise  the  Sierra  Madre  and 
the  Sierra  San  Juan.  It  is  all  a  wonderful  region, 
with  great  plains  as  well  as  mountain  ranges,  and 
here  and  there  are  found  remarkable  ruins  of  an 
cient  architecture  and  every  way  as  remarkable 
remnants  of  ancient  people.  Some  of  the  wide 
levels  are  mere  deserts  of  sand  and  gravel — hot, 
barren,  terrible — but  others  are  rich  with  pasturage 
for  horses  and  cattle,  as  they  once  were  only  for  in 
numerable  bisons,  deer,  and  antelopes. 

The  Spanish-Mexican  hidalgo  who  had  selected 
Santa  Lucia  had  shown  excellent  judgment,  although 
even  in  that  day  he  probably  had  more  or  less 

23 


24  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

trouble  with  his  red  neighbors.  The  present  owners 
and  occupants  of  the  ranch  had  had  none  at  all  until 
the  very  hour  when  Sam  Herrick  found  the  prairie 
around  him  swarming  with  them. 

As  for  Sam,  he  had  now  no  suspicion  how  near 
he  came  to  again  meeting  the  very  Apaches  who  had 
chased  him  and  Cal  and  who  were  now  hurrying  to 
rejoin  their  band.  They  missed  Sam  and  they 
brought  news  back  with  them  which  seemed  to  re 
ceive  the  approval  of  the  very  dignified  warrior  who 
had  directed  in  the  capture  of  the  horses.  He  was 
a  proud-looking  commander  now,  as  he  sat  upon  one 
of  Colonel  Evans's  best  horses  to  listen  to  their 
report. 

"Ugh !"  he  remarked.  uKah-go-mish  is  a  great 
chief.  Get  ranch  first.  Then  go  for  horses  in 
timber." 

There  was  pride  in  every  tone  and  movement  of 
Kah-go-mish,  for  he  had  performed  a  great  exploit, 
and  he  and  his  band  were  no  longer  in  poverty. 
There  were  many  signs,  however,  that  they  had  not 
been  prosperous  upon  the  Reservation,  although  the 
chief  still  wore  the  very  high  silk  hat  which  had 
there  been  given  him.  He  had  tied  a  green  veil 
around  it  to  set  off  its  beauty  and  his  own.  His 
only  other  garments  were  the  well-worn  buckskin 
leggings  which  covered  him  from  the  waist  to  the 
knee,  and  a  pair  of  long  red  stockings  through 
which  he  had  thrust  his  arms  to  the  shoulder.  Open 
ings  in  the  soles  let  out  the  hands,  with  which  he 
gesticulated  in  explanation  of  orders  which  were 
promptly  obeyed. 

About  thirty  warriors,  now  well  mounted  and  all 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  25 

pretty  well  armed,  whirled  away  northerly,  with 
Kah-go-mish  at  their  head,  and  their  purpose  did 
not  require  any  explanation. 

Half  as  many  more  braves  and  all  the  squaws, 
boys,  and  girls  proceeded  to  complete  the  beef  busi 
ness.  They  did  it  with  great  rapidity  and  dexterity, 
and  then  they,  with  the  horses,  dogs,  and  children, 
trailed  away  in  a  caravan  that  was  headed  almost 
due  south.  It  was  a  very  picturesque  caravan  all 
the  time,  but  it  looked  more  so  than  ever  when  it 
halted,  after  a  while,  on  the  bank  of  Slater's  Branch. 

Some  very  good  people  had  been  interested  in  the 
reservation  set  apart  for  those  Apaches,  and  had 
gathered  contributions  of  civilized  clothing  for  them. 
It  had  not  been  in  rebellion  against  anything  of  that 
sort  that  Kah-go-mish  and  his  people  had  run  away, 
for  the  miscellaneous  goods  from  away  Down  East 
helped  the  picture  at  Slater's  Branch  amazingly. 
The  hat  and  stocking  legs  had  helped  the  appearance 
of  the  chief  himself,  but  other  things  had  done  more 
for  a  fat  and  very  dark  lady  whom  he  had  addressed 
as  Wah-wah-o-be.  The  many-ribboned  straw  bon 
net  upon  the  head  of  the  severe-faced  wife  of  Kah- 
go-mish  was  fine.  So  was  the  blue  calico  dress  with 
the  red  flannel  skirt  over  it,  and  the  pony  she  rode 
seemed  to  be  afraid  of  the  whole  outfit.  Near  her, 
upon  two  other  ponies,  sat  a  boy  and  girl.  They 
were  apparently  younger,  a  little,  than  Cal  and  Vic 
toria  Evans.  They  were  hardly  as  good-looking, 
in  some  respects,  and  were  dressed  differently. 
Among  the  charities  at  the  Reservation  had  been  a 
bale  of  second-hand  trousers,  of  the  style  worn  now 
adays  by  boys,  reaching  to  the  knee.  The  young 


26  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

lady  wore  a  pair  of  these,  and  with  them  a  dress  of 
which  any  Mescalero  girl  might  have  been  vain. 
A  piece  of  yard-wide  red  cotton,  three  yards  long, 
had  a  hole  in  the  middle  for  the  head  to  pass 
through.  When  proper  armholes  were  added  and 
a  belt  of  embroidered  antelope  skin  confined  the 
loose  cloth  at  the  waist,  what  more  was  needed  by 
the  bright-eyed  daughter  of  Kah-go-mish? 

The  boy  on  the  other  pony —  Well,  he  wore 
another  pair  of  second-hand  trousers.  They  had 
been  planned  for  a  man  and  were  large  in  the  waist, 
requiring  a  belt,  but  had  been  altered  to  the  com 
plete  style  by  cutting  them  off  just  below  the  knee. 
The  pony  he  rode  was  one  of  the  nearly  worn-out 
fellows  that  had  travelled  all  the  way  across  the 
mountains  from  the  Reservation.  He  and  Cal 
Evans  had  been  within  a  few  miles  of  each  other 
that  morning.  Both  were  uncommonly  vigorous 
young  fellows,  of  whom  their  parents  had  a  right 
to  be  proud,  but  it  was  not  easy  to  discover  many 
points  of  resemblance  between  them.  There  did 
not  seem  to  be  the  least  probability  that  they  would 
ever  be  much  thrown  into  each  other's  society;  but 
then  no  young  fellow  of  fourteen  knows  precisely 
who  his  future  friends  are  to  be,  or  where  he  is  to 
meet  them. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  GARRISON  OF  SANTA  LUCIA. 

FULLY  six  miles  from  the  threatened  home  of 
the  Evans  family  there  was  a  deep,  round  sink 
hole,  shaped  like  a  funnel.  Nobody  knew  exactly 
when  or  how  it  was  made,  but  down  at  the  weedy 
bottom  of  it  lay  the  body  of  an  Indian  pony,  and 
over  that  there  leaned  a  very  tall  man. 

Up  at  the  margin  of  the  sink-hole  were  four 
horses,  and  three  of  them  had  riders. 

"Well,  colonel,  how  does  it  pan  out?"  asked  one 
of  the  mounted  men. 

"Either  Cal  or  Sam  Herrick  did  it.  Hit  him 
right  between  the  eyes.  'Tisn't  two  hours  since  it 
was  done.  The  critter  rolled  down  here.  Joaquin, 
you  and  Key  ride  for  the  ranch.  Tell  Mrs.  Evans 
I'll  scout  a  little  and  be  right  there." 

"All  right,  colonel,"  shouted  one  of  the  horse 
men. 

"Si,  senor,"  responded  the  other. 

The  first  was  a  brawny,  freckled  old  fellow,  with 
nothing  to  mark  him  for  notice  but  a  jaunty  sort  of 
roll  and  swagger,  even  in  the  saddle.  The  second 
speaker  was  an  American,  of  the  race  that  fought 
with  Hernando  Cortes  for  the  road  to  the  City  of 
Mexico.  He  may  or  may  not  have  been  a  full- 
blooded  Tlascalan,  but  there  was  a  fierce,  tigerish 

27 


28  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

expression  on  his  face  as  he  glanced  at  the  dead 
pony.  His  white  teeth  showed,  also,  in  a  way  to 
indicate  the  state  of  his  mind  towards  the  tribe  the 
pony's  owner  belonged  to,  but  the  words  he  uttered 
carried  a  surprise  with  them.  Who  would  have 
thought  that  so  sweet  and  musical  a  voice  could 
come  from  such  a  thunder-cloud  face  ? 

Key  and  Joaquin  galloped  away,  and  Colonel 
Evans  climbed  up  out  of  the  sink-hole. 

"Somebody  coming,"  suddenly  exclaimed  the  re 
maining  horseman. 

"Reckon  it  must  be  Sam." 

"Looks  like  him,  Bill,"  said  the  colonel.  "Com 
ing  on  the  run." 

"We'll  know  now!"  and  Bill's  words  came  out 
in  a  harsh,  rasping  voice  that  matched  exactly  with 
his  long,  thin  body  and  coarse  yellow  hair. 

The  colonel  stood  by  his  horse  waiting  for  Sam. 
Nobody  who  saw  him  once  was  likely  to  forget  him. 
His  eyes  and  hair  were  like  Cal's,  but  the  likeness 
did  not  go  much  further.  There  was  silver  in  his 
heavy  beard  and  mustache,  and  his  eyebrows  were 
bushy,  giving  him  a  stern,  and,  just  now,  a  threaten 
ing  expression.  More  than  that,  Colonel  Abe  Evans, 
old  Indian  trader  and  ranch  owner,  stood  six  feet 
and  seven  inches,  although  he  was  so  well  propor 
tioned  that  at  a  little  distance  he  did  not  seem  un 
usually  large.  As  to  his  strength,  his  men  may  have 
exaggerated  a  little,  now  and  then,  but  they  declared 
that  whenever  a  horse  tired  under  him  he  would 
take  turns  and  carry  the  horse,  so  as  not  to  lose 
time.  He  hated  to  lose  anything,  they  said,  but  most 
of  all  he  hated  to  lose  his  temper. 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  29 

There  were  signs  that  he  was  having  some  diffi 
culty  in  keeping  cool  just  now,  but  his  voice  was 
steady,  as  yet. 

"Is  that  your  work?"  he  asked,  as  Sam  reined  in 
and  stared  down  at  the  dead  pony  in  the  sink-hole. 

"Colorado  !"  exclaimed  Sam.  "That's  where  that 
'Pache  went  to.  Hit  the  pony,  did  I?  'Feared  to 
go  out  of  sight  powerful  sudden." 

He  paused  for  a  moment,  and  he  wiped  his  fore 
head,  but  there  was  a  steely  light  beginning  to  dance 
in  the  eyes  of  Colonel  Evans,  and  the  cowboy  con 
tinued  :  "No  manner  of  use  blinking  it,  colonel.  The 
lower  drove's  gone.  Took  me  by  surprise.  Reg'lar 
swarm.  I  reached  the  upper  drove  in  time  and 
stampeded  it  across  Slater's  Branch.  Every  hoof." 

"Did  they  follow  you?" 

"Oh,  yes,  a  gang  of  'em,  but  Cal  and  I  stood  'em 
off." 

"Cal!"  exclaimed  his  father,  with  a  start  and  a 
shiver,  but  Sam  went  steadily  on  in  a  rapid  sketch 
of  the  morning's  adventures. 

"Sam  Herrick,"  said  the  colonel,  "keep  the  gray 
you're  on.  It's  your  horse.  I  can  read  the  whole 
thing  like  a  book.  Of  course  they  wanted  beef  and 
horses,  but  they  may  go  for  the  ranch.  Come  on!" 

There  was  an  angry  shake,  now,  in  the  deep,  ring 
ing  tones  of  his  voice,  and  the  veins  in  his  forehead 
were  swelling.  He  sprang  to  the  saddle  of  the 
broad-chested,  strong  limbed  thoroughbred  held  for 
him,  and  that  seemed  just  the  horse  for  the  strong 
est  man  in  southern  New  Mexico. 

"Sam,"  said  he,  as  they  rode  away,  "what's  your 
opinion?" 


30  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

"Cal  got  there  safe,  long  before  the  redskins 
could.  We  can  do  it,  too,  if  they  worked  long 
enough  over  their  beef.  If  we  get  there  first,  we  can 
hold  Saint  Lucy  against  twice  as  many.  But  if  we 
don't—" 

Neither  of  those  horsemen  said  another  word 
after  that.  Sam  knew  no  more  than  the  rest  did  of 
what  was  actually  going  on  at  the  ranch. 

More  than  a  little  had  been  going  on,  and  with 
quite  remarkable  results. 

Hardly  had  Cal  disappeared  through  the  gateway 
of  the  stockade  before  the  two  in  the  veranda  turned 
and  looked  wistfully  at  one  another. 

"Mother,"  said  Victoria,  udo  you  think  there  is 
really  any  danger?" 

"Terrible  danger,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Evans, 
with  a  quiver  in  her  firm  lips. 

"Then  what  made  you  send  Cal  away?  Oh, 
mother!" 

"We  are  as  safe,  almost,  without  him  as  with 
him,  and  the  whole  valley  is  in  danger  until  the  army 
officers  are  warned.  They  believe  that  everything 
is  quiet." 

"How  I  wish  they  were  here !    And  father !" 

"Victoria,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Evans,  with  a  face 
that  grew  very  pale,  "he  went  to  look  at  the  lower 
drove,  the  one  that  the  savages  have  captured." 

"Sam  didn't  see  him,  or  Cal  would  have  said  so. 
Mother,  you  don't  believe  they  killed  him?" 

There  was  a  strange  look  in  the  resolute  face  of 
Mrs.  Evans. 

"Vic,"  she  said,  "I  don't  believe  they  have 
touched  him.  He's  not  the  man  to  be  caught.  We 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  31 

must  work,  though,  for  they'll  be  here  pretty  soon. 
We  must  bar  the  gate,  first,  and  any  prowling  Indian 
needn't  be  told  that  there  are  only  women  behind  the 
stockade." 

Vic's  quick  dash  for  the  gate  expressed  her  feel 
ings  fairly,  but  she  put  up  the  bars  of  the  gate  with 
more  strength  and  steadiness  than  might  have  been 
expected  of  her.  But  for  the  reddish  tint  of  her 
hair  she  would  have  looked  even  more  like  Cal  than 
she  did  when  she  turned  and  said:  "There,  mother, 
that's  done.  Now,  what?" 

Mrs.  Evans  studied  the  gate  for  a  moment. 

"Vic,"  she  said,  "everybody  must  help.  I  think 
we  can  hold  the  ranch.  Come  with  me." 

In  half  a  minute  more  they  were  standing  in  the 
courtyard  of  the  adobe,  explaining  the  terrors  of  the 
situation  to  a  group  of  five  startled  and  frightened 
women.  Seven  in  all,  they  were  the  only  garrison 
of  Santa  Lucia,  and  Kah-go-mish  and  his  warriors 
were  coming  to  surprise  it.  How  long  could  they 
hold  out? 


CHAPTER  V. 

CAL   AND  THE    CAVALRY  AND   THE   RED   MUSTANG. 

SIXTY  miles  to  Fort  Craig!" 
That  had  been  the  mournful  exclamation  of 
Cal  Evans,  a  little  distance  from  Santa  Lucia.  Then 
he  made  a  brief  calculation,  and  added:  "Dick  has 
had  ten  miles  of  easy  going  and  ten  miles  of  run 
ning.  Not  many  horses  could  stand  sixty  more.  I 
believe  he  can,  but  I'll  take  care  of  him,  as  mother 
said.  It's  awful !  I  don't  wonder  some  people  want 
to  kill  all  the  Indians,  right  away.  I  do." 

He  had  some  lessons  yet  to  learn  about  Indians, 
but  now  he  reined  in  the  red  mustang  to  a  steady- 
going  gallop  instead  of  the  free  gait  that  Dick  was 
inclined  to  take. 

An  hour  went  by,  and  it  was  a  trying  hour  to 
Cal  Evans,  crowded  as  his  mind  was  with  fears  and 
with  imaginations  concerning  what  might  be  doing 
at  Santa  Lucia. 

"Wasn't  mother  beautiful!"  was  one  thought  that 
came  to  him.  "Vic,  too,  and  they're  brave  enough, 
and  they  both  know  how  to  shoot,  but  what  can  they 
do  against  Indians?" 

He  felt  that  he  was  doing  his  duty.  He  was,  at 
all  events,  obeying  his  mother.  He  was  a  boy  who 
wished  to  be  in  two  places,  but  his  mind  grew  calmer 
with  the  regular  beat  of  Dick's  hoofs.  A  sharp 

32 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  33 

appetite  came,  too,  and  put  him  in  mind  of  his 
haversack.  He  ate  as  best  he  could,  and  the  next 
stream  of  water  he  came  to  invited  him  to  dismount 
and  get  some,  and  to  let  Dick  do  the  same  and  rest 
a  little.  It  was  very  hard  work  to  stand  still  and 
eat  cold  meat  and  bread,  and  pat  Dick  and  think 
about  Santa  Lucia. 

After  that  the  red  mustang  was  pulled  in  for  a 
breathing-spell  at  the  end  of  every  half-hour,  or  a 
little  more,  but  every  minute  expended  in  that  way 
seemed  like  an  hour  to  Cal  Evans. 

Noon  came  and  went,  as  the  long  miles  went  by. 
Groves,  tree-lined  sloughs,  gangs  of  deer  to  the  right 
and  left,  hardly  attracted  a  glance  from  the  sore- 
hearted  young  messenger.  Mountain-tops,  easterly, 
that  had  been  cloudy  in  the  morning,  were  showing 
more  distinctly  against  the  sky,  when  Cal  at  last 
pulled  the  red  mustang  suddenly  in. 

"A  smoke !"  he  exclaimed.  "It  can't  be  Indians. 
No  danger  of  their  being  away  up  here.  I'll  find 
out." 

Courageously,  but  warily,  he  rode  some  distance 
nearer,  and  he  was  just  about  to  dismount  when  a 
loud  voice  hailed  him. 

"Hullo!  What  are  you  scouting  around  for? 
What  are  you  afraid  of?" 

"Hurrah!"  shouted  Cal,  for  the  hitherto  unseen 
horseman,  who  now  came  out  from  behind  a  clump 
of  mesquit  trees,  wore  the  yellow-trimmed  uniform 
of  the  United  States  cavalry. 

Explanations  followed  fast,  and  were  made  more 
full  in  front  of  the  camp-fire,  where  rations  were 
cooking  for  a  score  or  more  of  what  Cal  thought 


34  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

were  the  best-looking  men  he  ever  saw.  That  is, 
they  were  the  very  men  he  wanted  to  see,  and  the 
bronzed,  gray-bearded  captain  in  command  of  them 
was  really  a  fine-looking  veteran. 

"So,"  he  sajd,  "my  young  friend,  we  ought  to 
have  set  out  a  day  earlier.  Colonel  Sumner  had 
heard  that  a  band  had  been  seen  near  El  Paso,  days 
ago,  and  we  were  coming  your  way.  Your  father 
isn't  the  man  to  be  taken  by  surprise.  He  can  hold 
the  ranch." 

"Father  isn't  there,  Captain  Moore!"  exclaimed 
Cal. 

"I'll  trust  him  to  get  there,  then.  That's  a 
splendid  fellow  you're  riding.  What  did  you  say? 
Twenty  miles  and  more  before  you  left  Santa  Lucia? 
Forty  odd,  since,  to  this  place.  Pretty  near  seventy 
miles.  That's  enough  for  him  or  you  for  one  day." 

It  was  in  vain  for  Cal  to  plead  the  peril  of  his 
family.  The  cavalry  had  made  a  long  push  and 
must  rest  their  horses.  One  tough  fellow  was  given 
only  time  to  eat  before  he  was  again  mounted,  on  a 
spare  horse  fresher  than  the  rest,  with  despatches 
for  the  commander  at  Fort  Craig. 

Dick  was  provided  with  ample  rations,  and  so  was 
his  master;  but  Cal  Evans  needed  all  the  cheerful 
encouragement  of  Captain  Moore  to  keep  his  heart 
from  sinking  under  his  heavy  forebodings  concerning 
the  fate  of  Santa  Lucia. 

The  nearer  the  sun  sank  to  the  horizon  the  more 
strongly  he  felt  that  it  was  impossible  for  him  to 
spend  that  night  in  the  cavalry  camp.  He  said  so 
to  Captain  Moore,  stoutly  denying  that  his  day  of 
hard  riding  had  wearied  him. 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  35 

"I  know  how  you  feel,"  said  the  kindly  veteran  at 
last.  "There'll  be  a  good  moon,  and  you  know  the 
way.  I'll  let  you  have  one  of  our  led  horses.  You 
mustn't  ride  to  death  that  red  beauty  of  yours.  We'll 
bring  him  on.  Tell  your  father  we  shall  start  at  sun 
rise,  and  that  I've  sent  word  to  the  fort." 

Cal  was  sincerely  grateful,  but  while  a  soldier  was 
saddling  for  him  a  good-looking  black,  he  went  to 
say  good-bye  to  Dick,  praising  and  caressing  him  in 
a  manner  that  brought  from  him  whinny  after 
whinny  of  good-will. 

His  master  had  not  kpown  how  tired  he  was  him 
self  until  he  mounted  the  black — so  stiff,  so  sore,  so 
almost  without  any  spring  left  in  him;  but  he  felt 
better  the  moment  the  horse  began  to  move  under 
him. 

"Take  your  bearings  by  the  north  star,"  shouted 
Captain  Moore.  "Go  easy  and  you'll  get  there. 
Then  I  think  you'll  want  to  go  to  bed." 

Cal  thanked  him  and  cantered  away.  He  was 
glad  enough  of  the  glorious  moonlight  and  of  the 
stars,  especially  the  north  star.  He  was  carrying 
news  of  help  found  quicker  than  he  had  expected. 
What  then?  Would  he  find  Santa  Lucia  as  he  had 
left  it  ?  Would  it  be  besieged  ?  How  many  Apaches 
might  he  not  fall  in  with  before  getting  there?  He 
knew  that  they  never  rode  around  after  dark,  and 
that  was  something. 

"If  I  don't  get  too  tired  and  tumble  off,"  he  said 
to  himself,  "and  if  the  black  holds  out,  I'll  get  home 
before  daylight,  and  I'll  ride  through  to  the  gate  if 
the  Apaches  are  camped  all  around  the  ranch." 

The  black  galloped  steadily.     He  was  a  good 


36  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

horse,  but  he  lacked  the  easy  swing  of  the  red  mus 
tang,  and  there  was  more  weariness  in  riding  him. 
He  was  allowed  to  rest,  at  intervals,  and  Cal  tried 
hard  not  to  ask  too  much  of  him. 

"Captain  Moore  said  about  forty  miles  to  the 
ranch,"  remarked  the  young  rider  to  his  horse,  at 
last.  "You  must  have  done  about  half  of  them. 
You're  doing  well  enough,  but  I  never  felt  so  tired 
in  all  my  life.  I'm  going  to  make  a  good,  hard  push 
of  about  ten  miles,  if  it's  only  to  keep  me  from  going 
to  sleep." 

The  push  was  made  and  the  black  stood  it  well 
enough,  but  it  grew  harder  and  harder  on  Cal.  At 
the  end  of  it  he  knew  that  he  could  not  be  more 
than  ten  miles  from  the  ranch,  but  he  found  that  the 
black  was  disposed  to  walk.  It  might  be  unwise  to 
urge  him  any  more.  At  the  same  time  every  mile 
was  probably  bringing  Cal  and  his  news  within  more 
or  less  danger  of  Apache  interruption.  Oh,  how  he 
longed  for  a  glimpse  of  the  Santa  Lucia  stockade ! 
Oh,  how  sleepy  he  was,  and  how  hungry  and  how 
sick  at  heart ! 

As  the  black  plodded  onward  he  caught  himself 
nodding  heavily,  and  he  recovered  his  senses  in  the 
middle  of  a  half-waking  dream  in  which  he  had  seen 
the  cavalry  arriving  and  chasing  away  Indians. 

"I  .nay  fall  off,"  he  said,  "if  I  try  that  again.  I'm 
afraid  if  I  did  fall  I  couldn't  climb  into  the  saddle 
again.  I'm  stiff  and  numb  all  over." 

Plod,  plod,  plod,  on  went  the  very  good-natured 
black,  and  Cal  did  not  know  how  long  it  was  before 
he  had  another  dream. 

It  seemed  to  him  as  if  the  red  mustang  came  and 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  37 

walked  along  with  the  black,  and  as  if  he  himself 
had  said:  "Hullo,  Dick.     Glad  you've  come.     You 
can  carry  me  easier,  and  you  know  where  to  go." 
Then,  in  the  dream,  Cal  rode  the  red  mustang. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  PERIL  OF  SANTA  LUCIA. 

AFTER  Cal  rode  away  from  the  cavalry  camp  on 
the  black,  Captain  Moore  made  a  number  of 
remarks  about  him. 

"Plucky  boy,"  he  said.  "Tough  as  whipcord,  but 
he'll  be  pretty  well  used  up  before  he  gets  to  the 
ranch." 

The  other  officers  and  the  men  agreed  with  their 
commander  in  all  he  had  to  say  about  Cal  Evans  or 
about  his  horse. 

The  red  mustang  was  in  the  corral.  He  had  been 
tethered,  by  a  long  lariat,  to  the  same  pin  with  a 
mean-looking,  wiry  little  pack-mule,  and  he  had  given 
early  tokens  that  he  did  not  like  his  long-eared  com 
pany. 

Dick  had  travelled  fast  and  far  since  sunrise  of 
that  day.  Cal  had  given  him  a  friendly  rubbing 
down  after  supper,  and  he  felt  pretty  well.  One 
admiring  cavalryman  had  given  him  a  full  army 
ration  of  corn,  and  another  had  brought  him  some 
nice  pieces  of  hard-tack,  while  several  more  had  said 
things  about  his  shape  and  color  and  the  miles  he 
had  travelled,  all  in  a  way  to  rouse  the  jealousy  of 
a  sensitive  mule.  After  the  men  went  away,  Dick 
considered  himself  entitled  to  lie  down  and  did  so, 
but  the  mule  did  not.  There  was  moonlight  enough 

38 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  39 

to  kick  by,  and  it  was  not  long  before  the  red  mus 
tang  was  suddenly  stirred  up.  He  was  not  hurt,  for 
that  first  kick  had  been  seemingly  experimental,  as 
if  the  mule  were  getting  the  exact  range  of  Dick's 
ribs.  A  low  squeal  expressed  his  satisfaction  at  his 
success,  but  it  was  followed  by  a  disappointment,  for 
his  own  lariat  was  several  feet  shorter  than  the 
brand-new  one  given  to  the  red  mustang,  and  the 
latter  had  stepped  almost  out  of  danger.  It  was 
almost,  but  not  quite,  and  Dick  was  compelled  to 
keep  in  motion  to  get  out  of  harm's  way.  It  was 
too  bad  not  to  have  quiet,  after  so  hard  a  day's 
work,  but  that  mule  was  a  bitter-hearted  fellow. 
Dick  moved  along,  backing  away  and  watching,  and 
the  mule  slowly,  sullenly,  followed  him.  Santa  Lucia 
was  a  better  place  than  this,  Indians  or  no  Indians. 
Dick  had  seen  Cal  depart,  and  he  had  felt  deserted 
and  lonely  then,  but  his  homesickness  increased  rap 
idly  under  the  treatment  he  was  receiving  from  the 
wickedly  perverse  beast  he  was  tied  up  with. 

Back,  back,  back,  until  both  lariats  were  tightly 
wound  once  more  around  the  pin.  They  were  short 
ened  eight  inches  by  that  twist,  and  the  next  wind 
around  shortened  them  nine  inches  more.  The  mule 
grew  wickeder  and  made  a  dash  that  did  not  cease 
until  three  more  twists  had  shortened  the  lariats. 
Meantime  there  had  been  all  sorts  of  jerks  and 
counter-jerks  upon  the  wooden  pin,  and  it  was  get 
ting  loosened  in  the  soft  ground.  Winding  up  the 
lariats,  the  game  went  on  until  both  tethers  were 
short  indeed,  and  that  of  the  mule  was  less  than 
three  yards  long.  The  strain  of  it  disgusted  him, 
and  he  gave  a  plunge  and  pull  against  it  just  as  Dick 


40  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

was  drawing  hard  in  the  opposite  direction.  Up 
came  the  pin,  but  once  more  the  mule  was  disap 
pointed.  The  next  dash  he  made  brought  him  and 
Dick  to  a  stand,  for  they  were  on  opposite  sides  of 
the  trunk  of  an  oak  that  caught  the  lariats  in  the 
middle.  They  could  bring  their  heads  and  shoulders 
together,  but  the  tree  protected  Dick  from  his 
enemy's  heels.  The  tree  and  the  knotted  lariats  held 
hard,  and  the  red  mustang  could  not  prevent  that 
ugly  head  from  coming  close  to  his  own. 

Would  he  bite? 

No,  he  was  a  bad  mule,  but  the  mischief  in  him, 
except  such  as  naturally  settled  in  his  heels,  was  of 
another  kind.  He  preferred  to  gnaw  a  hide  lariat 
around  a  horse's  neck  rather  than  the  neck  itself. 
Dick  was  compelled  to  stand  still  while  the  gnawing 
proceeded,  and  it  was  very  unpleasant. 

The  mule  had  good  teeth,  and  he  knew  something 
about  lariats.  It  was  remarkable  how  short  a  time 
elapsed  before,  as  Dick  gave  a  sudden  start,  he 
found  himself  free. 

Liberty  was  a  good  thing,  but  that  camp  was  not 
an  attractive  place  for  a  horse  which  had  seen  his 
master  ride  away  from  it.  Besides,  it  contained  the 
tormenting  mule,  and  all  of  the  red  mustang's 
thoughts  and  inclinations  turned  towards  Santa 
Lucia. 

Notable  things  had  occurred  there  since  Dick  and 
Cal  came  away,  and  after  Mrs.  Evans  made  her 
courageous  appeal  to  her  five  servants.  Four  of 
these  were  evidently  Mexicans,  and  the  fifth  declared 
her  own  nationality  in  the  prompt  reply  that  she 
made  to  her  mistress. 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  41 

"Wud  I  foight,  ma'am?  'Dade'n  I'll  not  be 
skelped  widout  foighting.  I  want  wan  of  thim 
double  goons,  and  the  big  wash  toob  full  of  b'ilin' 
wather  and  the  long  butcher  knife  and  the  bro'd 
axe.  I'll  make  wan  of  thim  'Paches  pale  like  a 
potaty.  There's  plinty  of  good  blood  in  Norah 
McLory." 

Evidently  there  was,  but  Mrs.  Evans  did  not  feel 
so  sure  of  the  others.  Anita,  Manuelita,  Maria,  and 
a  very  old  woman  spoken  to  as  Carlotta,  seemed  at 
first  disposed  to  call  upon  an  immense  list  of  saints 
rather  than  listen  to  a  plan  which  their  mistress 
tried  to  explain,  but  Norah  succeeded  in  shutting 
them  up. 

It  was  a  remarkable  military  plan,  and,  when  it 
was  all  told, 

"Oh,  mother!"  exclaimed  Vic,  and  in  a  moment 
more  she  added:  "Splendid!" 

"  'Dade,  an'  I'm  ready,  ma'am,"  said  Norah,  as 
she  made  a  dash  for  the  boiler,  and  heaped  the  stove 
with  fuel.  "Faith,  I'd  rather  bile  thim  than  ate 
thim." 

A  bustling  time  of  it  followed,  and  courage  grew 
with  work.  Weapons  were  plentiful,  and  the  stock 
ade  had  been  regularly  pierced  for  rifle  practice. 
All  that  was  needed  there  or  in  the  adobe  was  a 
supply  of  riflemen.  There  was  a  tall  flagstaff  at 
one  corner  of  the  adobe,  but  its  halliards  had  swung 
emptily  for  many  a  day. 

"Mother,"  said  Vic,  at  the  end  of  about  twenty 
minutes,  "what  will  they  say?" 

"The  Indians?"  said  Mrs.  Evans,  "They  may  not 
come  at  all.  Take  your  father's  field-glass  and  go 


42  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

up  to  the  roof.  We  must  keep  a  sharp  lookout.  I'll 
tend  to  things  down  here." 

Up  went  Vic,  her  bright  young  face  all  aglow  with 
excitement,  and  she  carried  Cal's  repeating  rifle  with 
her,  as  well  as  the  double  field-glass  with  which  to 
sweep  the  prairie  for  Indians. 

"Not  one  in  sight,"  she  shouted  down  to  her 
mother.  "Guess  Cal's  safe,  anyhow.  I  don't  be 
lieve  they're  coming." 

She  should  have  questioned  Kah-go-mish  about 
that.  While  she  was  nervously  patrolling  the  roof 
of  the  old  hacienda  and  watching  for  him,  the  prud 
ent  leader  of  the  now  well-mounted  Mescaleros  was 
pushing  steadily  forward.  He  had  given  out  a 
careful  set  of  orders,  which  proved  his  right  to  be 
considered  an  uncommon  Apache. 

"Ugh!"  he  said.  "No  kill.  Borrow!  Make 
pale-face  lend  poor  Mescalero  gun,  horse,  mule, 
blanket,  knife,  cartridges,  kettle.  Keep  'calp  on 
head.  No  want  'calp  now." 

He  hoped  to  find  the  ranch  almost  if  not  quite 
undefended  and  to  take  it  by  surprise,  getting  what 
he  wanted  without  doing  anything  to  provoke  the 
altogether  unforgiving  vengeance  of  the  military 
authorities. 

Half  an  hour  more  went  by  that  was  very  long  to 
the  watchers  in  the  adobe. 

"Four  Indians,  mother,"  shouted  Vic,  at  last, 
from  her  station  on  the  roof.  ;  'Way  off  there, 
eastward.  I  can't  see  anything  of  father  or  the 
men." 

"They  will  come,  Vic.  Watch!"  replied  Mrs. 
Evans. 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  43 

"If  they  were  near  enough,"  said  Vic,  "I'd  fire  at 
them.  They've  halted." 

They  had  done  so,  on  a  roll  of  the  prairie,  for 
they  were  a  mere  scouting-party,  and  they  quickly 
hurried  away  as  if  they  had  an  unexpected  report  to 
make  concerning  the  state  of  things  at  Santa  Lucia. 
Five  minutes  later  Vic  laid  down  her  field-glass  and 
took  up  Cal's  rifle. 

"More  Indians,  mother!"  she  shouted,  and  the 
loud  report  which  followed  testified  strongly  to  the 
condition  of  Vic's  fighting  courage. 

Nobody  seemed  to  be  hit  by  that  bullet;  but  the 
warning  shot,  long  as  was  the  range,  compelled  one 
Indian  to  remark: 

"Ugh!  Kah-go-mish  is  a  great  chief !  Pale-face 
heap  wide-awake." 

"They've  halted,  mother,  but  I  didn't  hit  any 
body.  Hurrah !  Hurrah !" 

"What  is  it,  Vic?"  anxiously  inquired  Mrs.  Evans. 
"Do  you  see  anybody  else?" 

"Not  Indians,  this  time.  On  the  other  side.  Key 
and  Joaquin.  Perhaps  they  won't  dare  to  ride  in." 

"Nothing  could  stop  your  father." 

That  was  very  true,  and  nothing  did.  Key  and 
Joaquin  had  had  somewhat  the  start  of  him,  but  had 
been  delayed  on  the  way,  repeatedly,  by  the  neces 
sity  of  keeping  out  of  sight  of  a  dangerous-looking 
squad  of  Apaches,  so  that  they  were  but  a  little  in 
advance  of  three  more  white  men  who  quickly  rode 
up. 

"Colorado !"  exclaimed  one  of  these.  "What's  lit 
on  to  the  ranch?" 

It  was  a  fair  question  for  Sam  Herrick  or  any 


44  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

other  man  to  ask.  A  wide-winged  American  flag 
floated  proudly  from  the  flagstaff,  at  the  foot  of 
which  stood  what  seemed  to  be  an  army  officer  in 
very  full  uniform,  cocked  hat,  epaulets,  sword,  and 
all.  Another  flag  fluttered  at  the  gate,  and  in  front 
of  it  paced  up  and  down  a  sentry  in  uniform,  while 
outside  of  him,  at  regular  intervals,  were  osten 
tatiously  stacked  a  complete  company's  allowance  of 
muskets,  bayonets  fixed,  ready  for  service. 

"Colorado!"  again  exclaimed  Sam  Herrick;  but 
the  angry  look  was  fading  from  the  face  of  his  em 
ployer.  It  did  not  return,  even  when  a  score  or  so 
of  yelling  Apaches  came  out  in  full  view  at  the  right. 

"Boys,"  he  shouted,  "give  'em  a  volley  and  ride 
in.  The  drove  is  gone,  but  the  ranch  is  all  right." 

Crack  went  the  rifles;  but  the  range  was  long,  and 
not  one  of  the  red  men  was  harmed.  A  whoop,  a 
yell,  and  they  wheeled  away,  for  they  had  no  idea  of 
storming  a  stockade  defended  by  an  infantry  com 
pany  in  addition  to  Colonel  Abe  Evans  and  his  cow 
boys. 

"Hurrah !"  roared  the  deep  voice  of  the  colonel. 
"There's  fun  coming!" 

Loud  rang  the  answering  cheers  of  the  cowboys, 
but  at  that  instant  the  sentry  at  the  gate  threw  away 
his  musket,  exclaiming:  "Howly  mother!" 

The  army  officer  on  the  roof  made  a  quick  motion 
as  if  he  were  gathering  his  skirts  to  go  down  a  lad 
der,  and  he  disappeared,  while  four  soldiers  inside 
the  stockade  dropped  their  muskets  also,  and  their 
commander  ceased  a  remarkable  use  she  was  mak 
ing  of  an  old  drum.  The  garrison  of  Fort  Santa 
Lucia  had  been  seized  with  a  sudden  panic  and  had 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  45 

disappeared,  leaving  the  gate  open  for  the  colonel 
and  his  men  to  ride  in  and  take  possession. 

Mrs.  Evans  had  not  been  in  uniform.  She  had 
put  down  her  drum,  and  she  was  now  in  the  doorway 
ready  to  meet  her  husband.  Norah  had  dashed 
past  her,  exclaiming:  "  'Dade,  ma'am,  I'd  not  let 
the  owld  man  and  the  byes  see  me  wid  the  like  o' 
this  on  me  bones." 

Reports  were  quickly  exchanged  between  the 
colonel  and  his  wife. 

"Nothing  lost  but  the  horses  and  a  few  cattle," 
he  said.  "It  was  just  like  you,  Laura.  You  did  the 
best  thing,  all  around.  Cal  is  safe,  but  if  the  cavalry 
come,  he  and  I  are  going  to  ride  after  the  redskins 
with  'em,  far  as  they  go." 

"Of  course,"  she  quietly  responded. 

"Laura,"  said  he,  "I'm  glad  all  that  old  army 
stuff  was  in  the  storeroom;  but  I  shall  not  take 
Major  Victoria  Evans  along.  I  shall  leave  her  here 
to  garrison  Santa  Lucia,  with  General  Laura  Evans 
as  commander-in-chief." 

Sam  Herrick  and  the  other  cowboys  brought  in 
the  stacks  of  muskets  and  closed  the  gate. 

"All  that  old  iron  is  good  for  something,  after  all. 
So's  the  flag,"  said  Bill. 

"Colorado!"  remarked  Sam.  "The  redskins  may 
think  they've  struck  Fort  Craig,  by  mistake." 

"They'll  smell  a  mouse,"  said  Key,  "and  they  may 
not  give  it  up  so  easy." 

"If  they  do  try  it  on,"  said  Sam,  "it  won't  be  till 
about  daylight  to-morrow  morning.  Let's  have 
something  to  eat." 

"Byes,"  said  Norah,  as  they  entered  the  kitchen. 


46  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

uhilp  me  off  wid  the  b'iler.  It  was  put  there  to  cook 
'Paches,  but  I'll  brile  you  some  bacon  instid." 

The  kitchen  table  looked  warlike  enough  with  its 
collection  of  the  weapons  required  by  Norah,  but 
she  was  no  longer  in  uniform,  and  looked  peaceful. 
She  and  her  Mexican  assistants  cooked  vigorously, 
but  before  the  coffee  was  hot  the  colonel  sent  for 
Joaquin. 

"Eat  your  dinner,"  he  said,  in  Spanish,  "and  then 
take  a  fresh  horse  and  ride  to  warn  the  upper 
ranches.  We're  safe  enough;  even  if  they  try  a 
daylight  attack,  we  can  stand  'em  off  till  help  can 
get  here.  Bring  me  a  dozen  good  men.  I'm  going 
to  chase  that  band  of  redskins,  cavalry  or  no  cav 
alry." 

"Si,  senor,"  replied  Joaquin,  and  he  was  quickly 
away,  seeming  to  hardly  give  a  thought  to  any  pos 
sible  interruption  by  scouting  Apaches. 

Some  work  was  done  by  scouting  cowboys  that 
afternoon  in  the  vicinity  of  the  ranch.  No  Indians 
were  seen ;  but  for  all  that  the  night  which  followed 
was  not  a  sleep-night.  The  men  slept  fairly  well, 
except  the  sentry  whose  turn  it  might  be,  but  they 
were  all  dressed  and  had  their  weapons  by  them. 
It  was  nearly  so  with  the  female  part  of  the  garri 
son.  They  did  not  sleep  at  all  well,  but  they  were 
all  dressed,  and  they  kept  more  guns  and  swords  and 
axes  within  grasping  distance  than  did  the  men. 

The  dawn  came  at  last,  and  it  did  not  bring  any 
alarm;  but,  just  as  the  sun  was  rising,  the  gate  in  the 
stockade  swung  wide  open,  and  a  man  stepped  out, 
gazing  earnestly  towards  the  east. 

"Colorado!     What's  that?"  he   exclaimed.      "I 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  47 

won't  rouse  the  ranch,  but  it  beats  me  all  hollow. 
Hosses.  Two  of  'em." 

There  was  evidently  something  curious  in  the  fact 
that  a  pair  of  horses  were  plodding  slowly  along 
towards  Santa  Lucia,  all  by  themselves,  at  that  hour 
of  the  morning. 

Sam  stood  by  the  gate  as  if  waiting  for  an  ex 
planation,  when  there  came  a  sound  of  steps  behind 
him. 

"Sam,"  asked  an  anxious  voice,  "do  you  see  any 
thing?" 

"I'd  say  'twas  the  red  mustang,  if  there  wasn't  a 
pack  on  him,  and  a  black  hoss  with  him.  Didn't 
know  you  was  up,  ma'am." 

"Cal's  mustang,  Sam?  I've  not  been  abed  or 
asleep." 

"Mother,  is  it  Dick?  Is  it  Cal?  Are  there  any 
Indians?" 

"Vic,  I'm  afraid  it's  Cal.  I'm  going  to  see.  He's 
wounded!" 

"Most  likely,"  said  Sam,  with  a  sharp  change  of 
voice.  "They'd  better  turn  out.  Stay  here, 
madam." 

He  raised  his  repeater  as  he  spoke  and  fired  a 
random  shot,  the  report  of  which  brought  every  soul 
in  Santa  Lucia  bolt  upright,  and  then  he  started  on 
a  swift  walk,  followed  closely  by  Cal's  mother  and 
sister. 

There  were  the  two  horses,  red  and  black,  and 
Vic  reached  them  first.  They  stood  stock-still,  as  if 
waiting  for  her,  when  she  came  near,  and  she  was 
sure  that  the  black  carried  Cal's  silver-mounted 
saddle. 


48  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

Dick  carried  Cal! 

Was  he  wounded?  Was  he  dead?  How  came  he 
on  Dick's  bare  back?  A  dozen  excited  questions 
burst  from  Mrs.  Evans  and  Vic,  but  no  answer  came 
until  Sam  Herrick  drew  a  long  breath  and  re 
sponded:  "Sound  asleep!  The  boy's  tired  clean 
out,  riding,  and  Dick's  been  caring  for  him.  He 
walked  as  if  he  was  treading  among  eggs.  'Fraid 
Cal  'd  fall  off." 

There  was  nobody  to  tell  just  how  many  slow 
miles  Cal  had  ridden,  unconsciously,  or  nearly  so, 
with  his  arms  around  Dick's  neck.  Sam  was  just 
about  to  lift  him  off  when  the  deep  voice  of  Colonel 
Evans,  behind  him,  said:  "Don't  wake  him,  Sam;  I'll 
take  him.  There  isn't  money  enough  anywhere  to 
buy  that  red  mustang." 

Dick  held  as  still  as  a  post  while  his  master  was 
gently  removed  in  the  strong  arms  of  the  old  colonel, 
but  the  moment  that  was  done  he  accompanied  a 
sharp  whinny  with  a  weary  attempt  to  throw  up  his 
heels.  Another  pair  of  arms  was  around  his  neck 
now,  however,  and  Vic  tried  hard  to  make  him  un 
derstand  her  intense  appreciation  of  him. 

"Hope  he  isn't  hurt,"  said  Sam.  "I  guess  he 
isn't,  nor  Cal  either." 

No,  Cal  was  not  hurt,  but  he  was  a  boy  who  had 
been  through  a  tremendous  amount  of  excitement, 
as  well  as  of  hard  riding.  Just  as  he  was  being 
carried  through  the  gate  he  opened  his  eyes  for  a 
moment  and  saw  the  flag  floating  over  Santa  Lucia. 

"Glad  the  cavalry  got  here,"  he  murmured.  "Cap 
tain  Moore  said  they'd  start  at  sunrise."  He  saw 
his  mother  and  Vic,  and  tried  to  say  something,  but 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  49 

he  was  sound  asleep  again  before  the  smile  on  his 
lips  could  be  turned  into  words. 

Cal  was  put  upon  a  bed  and  his  mother  sat  down 
by  him.  Norah  McLory  had  teetered  fatly  around 
them  all  the  way  to  the  house,  whispering  remark 
able  exclamations,  and  she  was  evidently  in  great 
fear,  even  now,  of  awaking  the  weary  sleeper. 

"Wud  hot  wather  do  him  any  good,  ma'am?"  she 
huskily  suggested. 

"Breakfast  will,  by  and  by,"  said  Mrs.  Evans. 
"Oh,  my  boy!" 

"Glad  the  cavalry  are  coming,"  said  the  old 
colonel,  as  he  turned  away  from  gazing  down  at 
Cal.  "I'll  know  all  about  it  when  he  wakes  up." 

The  whole  ranch  had  for  many  minutes  been  in 
a  state  of  turmoil,  and  mere  quadrupeds  had  been 
left  to  take  care  of  themselves,  for  even  Sam  Her- 
rick  came  pretty  near  to  being  excited  about  Cal. 
He  was  out  in  the  veranda  now,  and  Cal's  watchers 
heard  him  exclaim,  "Colorado  !" 

"Something's  up,"  said  the  colonel,  and  he  and 
Vic  hurried  out. 

There  stood  Dick,  with  no  bridle  or  saddle,  but 
with  a  look  about  his  drooping  head  which  seemed 
to  ask,  "Is  there  anything  more  wanted  of  me?" 

The  black  waited  a  few  paces  behind  Dick,  as  if 
he  also  had  an  idea  that  his  task  was  not  com 
pleted. 

"Dick !"  shouted  Vic.  "What  can  we  do  for  him, 
father?  Would  some  milk  do  him  any  good?  Dick, 
you're  the  most  beautiful  horse  in  the  world!" 

Milk  was  not  precisely  the  thing  he  needed,  but 
Sam  led  him  away,  the  black  following;  and  if  rub- 


50  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

bing,  feeding,  watering,  and  a  careful  inspection  of 
every  hoof  and  joint  could  do  a  tired  racer  any  good, 
all  that  sort  of  comfort  came  abundantly  to  the  red 
mustang. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

BOUND   FOR  THE   BORDER. 

THE  warning-shot  fired  from  the  roof  of  the 
ranch  by  Major  Vic  Evans  had  been  a  great 
surprise  to  the  Apaches.  It  had  informed  them 
that  they  could  not  surprise  Santa  Lucia,  and  that 
they  were  known  as  enemies.  At  the  same  time, 
they  had  not  been  supplied  with  field-glasses  for  the 
better  inspection  of  the  marksman. 

Kah-go-mish  knew  something  about  the  army  of 
the  United  States.  Bluecoats  at  Santa  Lucia  meant 
danger  to  him  and  his.  Loss  of  horses  and  a  pos 
sible  forced  return  to  the  Reservation  seemed  to 
stare  him  in  the  face.  Of  course,  he  gave  up  the 
ranch,  but  he  had  yet  a  hope  remaining. 

The  braves  who  had  chased  Sam  Herrick  that 
morning  had  reported  one  lonely  cowboy,  and  no 
end  of  horses  and  cattle  stampeded  into  the  timber 
at  Slater's  Branch.  There  was  the  point  to  strike 
at,  therefore,  and  success  was  sure  if  it  had  not  been 
for  the  horse  from  which  Sam  Herrick  dismounted 
when  he  transferred  his  saddle  to  the  dancing  gray 
for  his  ride  home.  He  was  a  good  horse,  and  he 
had  run  well  when  the  Apaches  were  behind  him. 
Sam  had  now  left  him,  but  it  seemed  to  him  that  his 
morning-work  had  been  cut  short.  Perhaps,  too,  he 
had  a  curiosity  as  to  where  Sam  was  riding  to  upon 

51 


52  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

the  gray.  At  all  events,  the  dashing  cowboy  was 
not  out  of  sight  before  the  horse  he  had  unsaddled 
started  after  him. 

That  was  example  enough  for  a  drove  which  was 
still  tremendously  nervous  from  a  big  stampede. 
Horse  after  horse  and  mule  after  mule  set  out  in 
a  lively  four-footed  game  of  "follow  my  leader." 
Not  one  of  them  was  willing  to  be  left  behind  to 
be  captured  by  Indians  or  by  another  stampede. 
Even  the  horned  cattle  on  the  opposite  bank  began 
to  wade  through  the  mud  of  Slater's  Branch  as  if 
they  thought  of  joining  the  procession.  The  self- 
appointed  leader  of  the  horses  did  not  see  fit  to  take 
a  very  rapid  gait,  but  seemed  able  to  follow  the  trail 
of  Sam  Herrick  to  the  ford  where  the  cowboy  had 
returned  to  the  other  side.  Here  a  half  hour  or  so 
was  expended  in  feeding,  neighing,  kicking  up  of 
heels,  and  other  tokens  of  horse  deliberation.  Then 
one  and  another  of  the  more  influential  members  of 
the  drove  decided  to  try  the  grass  nearer  Santa 
Lucia,  and  began  to  lead  their  comrades  northerly. 
Sam's  friend  appeared  to  be  superseded  in  com 
mand,  but  the  net  result  was  bad  for  Kah-go-mish. 
The  chief  and  his  warriors  were  guided  well  after 
giving  up  the  ranch,  and  on  their  arrival  at  Slater's 
Branch  they  found  the  cattle  in  the  timber.  A 
noble  herd;  endless  beef;  but  all  too  heavy  to  carry 
and  too  slow  to  be  driven  by  red  men  who  were 
likely  to  be  pursued  by  cavalry. 

Slater's  Branch  was  crossed  at  once,  and  all  the 
muddy  margin  told  of  the  horses  which  had  marched 
away.  Where  were  they  now?  The  puzzle  deep 
ened  as  the  disappointed  braves  rode  onward  down 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  53 

the  branch.  Even  at  the  ford  a  brace  of  braves 
dashed  across  for  a  search,  but  they  gave  it  up,  and 
came  back  disappointed.  The  escaped  drove  of 
horses  had  been  under  too  much  excitement  to  halt 
long  anywhere,  and  had  even  enjoyed  a  small  stam 
pede,  which  carried  them  half-way  to  the  ranch. 

"Kah-go-mish  is  a  great  chief,"  sullenly  remarked 
the  Apache  commander.  "Cavalry  come.  Save 
horses.  Ugh !  Heap  bad  luck." 

It  required  what  seemed  almost  like  rashness, 
under  such  circumstances,  to  linger  at  Slater's 
Branch,  but  the  Apaches  felt  bitterly  about  being 
robbed  in  that  way  of  Colonel  Evans's  larger  horse- 
drove.  More  cattle  were  slaughtered  and  more 
fresh  beef  was  prepared  for  transportation;  fires 
were  kindled,  and  an  hour  of  what  might  have  been 
precious  time  if  any  cavalry  were  near,  was  spent  in 
cooking  and  eating. 

Keen  had  been  the  eyes  of  Kah-go-mish,  and 
they  had  given  him  an  interpretation  of  the  stacks 
of  bayoneted  muskets  in  front  of  the  stockade  gate. 
He  knew  that  the  garrison  of  Santa  Lucia  consisted, 
as  yet,  of  infantry  only,  and  that  he  and  his  braves 
could  finish  their  dinner  before  the  supposed  return 
of  the  dreaded  cavalry. 

They  ate  well,  nobody  could  have  disputed  that, 
and  then  they  mounted  and  rode  away  in  high  spirits. 
While  the  people  at  the  ranch  were  anxiously  reason 
ing  as  to  whether  or  not  their  enemies  would  re 
appear,  the  exultant  Mescaleros  were  miles  and 
miles  nearer,  with  every  hour,  to  the  Mexican  bor 
der,  and  to  the  point  where  they  were,  in  due  time, 
to  meet  their  equally  happy  families.  Their  camp, 


54  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

that  night,  was  as  peaceful  as  if  it  had  been  a  picnic, 
and  at  the  earliest  dawn  of  day  they  were  stirring 
again,  very  much  as  if  they  had  taken  for  granted  the 
march  of  Captain  Moore  and  the  angry  determina 
tion  of  Colonel  Abe  Evans.  The  air  rang  with 
whoops  and  shouts,  and  among  them  could  be  heard 
a  very  positive  assertion  concerning  himself  from 
the  deep  voice  of  Kah-go-mish. 

At  about  the  same  hour,  and  in  as  perfect  safety, 
fires  were  kindling  and  fresh  beef  was  cooking,  and 
eating  began  at  the  camp  where  Wah-wah-o-be  and 
all  the  family  part  of  the  band  had  passed  the  pleas 
ant  summer  night.  It  was  a  number  of  miles  to  the 
southward;  it  was  nearer  to  the  very  southern  edge 
of  the  United  States,  but  over  every  breakfast  might 
have  been  heard  expressions  of  a  general  desire  to 
be  nearer  still. 

That  entire  party,  as  well  as  the  warriors  in  the 
other,  had  dismal  days  of  poverty  and  privation  to 
look  back  upon.  Days  when  most  of  them  were 
compelled  to  walk  instead  of  riding,  and  when  foot 
sore  squaws  were  forced  to  carry  burdens  which 
were  now  transferred  to  the  strong  backs  of  captured 
mules  and  ponies.  Walking  was  over  and  hunger 
was  gone,  and  even  the  overworked  ponies  saw  their 
packs  put  upon  fresher  carriers.  It  was  a  great 
relief  to  a  poor  fellow  who  had  panted  under  a  small 
hill  of  family  property  all  the  way  from  the  Reser 
vation  to  have  nothing  now  but  a  squaw  to  carry,  or 
a  couple  of  small  boys,  or  perhaps  three  girls  or  so. 
No  pony  had  more  than  that  when  all  was  ready  for 
the  day's  march. 

Several  of  the  captured  Evans  colts  had  a  busy 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  55 

time  that  morning.  They  had  rebelled  too  vigor 
ously  the  previous  day,  and  had  reached  their  first 
Apache  camps  unbroken.  Their  time  for  service  had 
come  now,  however,  and  they  were  rapidly  instructed 
how  to  go  along  under  wild-looking  riders  whom 
they  were  unable  to  throw  off.  Several  there  were, 
nevertheless,  who  earned  another  day  of  compara 
tive  freedom.  Time  was  precious,  and  too  much  of 
it  could  not  be  spent  in  horse-breaking. 

"Ugh !"  said  Wah-wah-o-be.  "Pale-face  pony  kick 
a  heap." 

That  was  when  a  skilful  mustang  had  pitched  a 
young  Apache  brave  clean  over  his  head. 

It  was  a  gay  cavalcade  when  at  last  it  got  in  mo 
tion.  From  one  end  of  it  to  the  other  there  did  not 
seem  to  be  one  sign  of  anxiety.  Its  immediate  wants 
had  been  provided  for  wonderfully,  and  it  had  great 
confidence  in  the  future.  There  was  something  very 
hopeful  to  talk  about,  for  every  Mescalero,  young 
or  old,  was  on  tiptoe  with  eagerness  to  hear  the 
report  of  the  doings  of  Kah-go-mish  and  his 
warriors. 

"Sun  go  down,  great  chief  come,"  said  Wah-wah- 
o-be,  and  there  was  no  telling  what  or  how  much  he 
would  bring  with  him. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

i 

GETTING  READY  TO  CHASE  KAH-GO-MISH. 

IT  was  noon  when  Cal  Evans  opened  his  eyes,  and 
even  then  the  lids  came  apart  reluctantly.     He 
saw  his  mother  sitting  by  him,  and  Vic  was  peering 
in  at  the  door,  but  he  did  not  quite  understand 
matters. 

"Mother,"  he  said,  "are  you  all  safe?" 

"Yes,  we're  all  safe — "  she  began. 

"He's  awake !  Mother,  may  I  come  in?"  shouted 
Vic.  "Cal !  we  had  such  a  time.  We  all  dressed  up 
in  those  old  uniforms  and  played  soldier.  I  fired  at 
the  Apaches  from  the  roof." 

Cal  struggled  to  sit  up,  and  found  out  how  sore 
and  stiff  he  was,  while  he  exclaimed: 

"Vic,  did  you?  There  was  an  attack?  You  beat 
them  off?" 

"Scared  them  off,"  said  his  mother.  "Why,  how 
lame  you  are !" 

"Awful !"  he  groaned,  as  he  lay  back  again.  "But 
about  the  fight — " 

"There  wasn't  any,"  said  Vic,  and  she  added  a 
rapid  sketch  of  the  garrison — Norah  McLory  at  the 
gate,  and  Mrs.  Evans  with  the  drum,  and  the  Mexi 
can  women  parading  as  sentinels. 

"Tell  us  about  your  ride,"  she  said,  as  she  paused 
for  breath. 

56 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  57 

"Ride?"  he  said.  "Well,  yes,  it  was  a  great  ride,, 
but  I  don't  know  the  whole  of  it,  myself.  How's 
Dick?" 

"Sam  says  he's  all  right,"  said  Vic,  "and  there 
isn't  such  another  horse  in  all  New  Mexico." 

"Guess  there  isn't,"  replied  Cal,  very  emphati 
cally.  "The  black  is  a  good  fellow,  but  it  was  his 
gait  that  made  me  so  sore.  I  can't  turn  over." 

He  could  tell  all  that  he  knew,  however,  and  he 
could  hear  all  that  they  had  to  say,  and  he  found 
that  he  could  sit  up  when  Norah  brought  in  his 
breakfast. 

"Hungry?  I  guess  I  am.  Never  was  so  hungry 
in  all  my  life.  But  I'm  going  with  father  after  'em." 

He  was  as  much  in  need  of  a  thorough  rubbing  as 
Dick  had  been,  but  when  Sam  Herrick  gave  it  to 
him,  a  little  later,  he  had  to  shut  his  mouth  hard,  for 
Sam's  gentleness  was  of  a  cowboy  kind,  and  he  did 
his  whole  duty.  After  that  was  over  Cal  could  walk 
fairly  well,  and  he  went  out  at  once  for  a  look  at  the 
red  mustang,  and  Vic  and  his  mother  went  with  him. 

"There  he  is,"  he  said,  "that's  a  fact,  but  I  can't 
tell  how  it  came  to  be  so.  I  left  him  picketed  in  the 
corral,  at  the  cavalry  camp.  He  must  have  untied 
himself  and  got  away." 

Cal  knew  nothing  about  the  teeth  of  the  persecut 
ing  mule. 

"Did  you  mount  him  in  your  sleep?"  asked  Vic. 

"I  don't  know,"  he  said.  "I  was  so  tired  I  went  to 
sleep  more  than  once.  Dreamed,  too.  It  was  all  a 
good  deal  like  a  dream.  Seems  so  yet,  from  the  be 
ginning.  I've  a  kind  of  memory  that  Dick  came 
alongside,  crowding  close  and  whinnying,  and  that 


58  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

he  and  the  black  stood  still,  so  I  could  crawl  on 
Dick's  back  and  lie  down,  somehow,  and  sleep  more 
comfortably.  That's  all  I  know  about  it,  except 
what  you've  told  me." 

If  the  red  mustang  felt  any  stiffness  as  a  conse 
quence  of  his  remarkable  performances,  he  kept  the 
matter  to  himself  and  accepted  graciously  all  the 
petting  given  him.  The  black  came  in  for  his  share 
of  praise,  but  he  was  regarded  as  an  enlisted  private 
horse  of  the  regular  army,  while  Dick's  last  per 
formance  had  been  altogether  as  a  volunteer. 

It  was  just  about  noon  when  Captain  Moore, 
riding  at  the  head  of  his  men,  listened  to  a  message 
from  Colonel  Evans,  brought  to  him  by  Bill,  the 
long,  lank,  yellow-haired  cowboy. 

"All  right,"  said  the  captain.  "Glad  I  needn't 
push  any  faster  under  this  hot  sun.  Glad  Cal  got  in 
safe.  Gritty  young  fellow.  You'll  have  to  tell  him, 
though,  that  his  horse  and  one  of  our  pack-mules 
got  away  in  the  night.  Sorry,  but  there's  no  help 
for  it." 

"Well,  yes,  that's  so,"  replied  Bill,  "but  that  there 
red  mustang.  Why,  captain,  do  you  know,  Cal 
Evans  rid  into  Saint  Lucy  on  to  him?  The  hoss 
was  a-caring  for  him  like  a  human,  and  Cal  was 
sound  asleep.  He  hadn't  begun  to  wake  up  when  I 
kem  away." 

The  captain  and  his  fellow-officers  had  questions 
enough  to  ask,  then,  and  they  learned  all  about 
Dick's  volunteer  work  when  they  reached  the  ranch 
the  next  day.  They  knew  nothing  about  the  mule 
then,  but  at  that  very  hour  the  long-eared  rascal 
reported  himself  for  garrison  duty  and  rations  at 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  59 

Fort  Craig,  having  for  the  time  delivered  himself 
from  the  pack  business  and  from  the  fatigues  of  a 
long  chase  after  Apache  horse-thieves. 

There  were  delays  in  the  preparations  for  follow 
ing  the  band  of  Kah-go-mish.  Captain  Moore  had 
to  wait  for  further  instructions  from  Fort  Craig, 
and  Colonel  Evans  also  waited  for  Joaquin  and 
the  expected  cowboy  recruits  from  the  upper 
ranches. 

Sam  and  the  rest  had  already  gathered,  with  keen 
satisfaction,  the  drove  of  horses  which  had  so  nicely 
dodged  Kah-go-mish,  and  they  had  scoured  the  plain 
to  Slater's  Branch  and  beyond.  They  reported  all 
things  safe  and  serene,  and  then  Cal  and  Vic  and 
their  mother  rode  out  and  went  over  all  the  scene  of 
his  first  adventure. 

From  the  mound  on  the  prairie  Cal  showed  them 
how  the  cattle  and  horses  were  stampeded.  Then 
they  went  to  the  timber  and  the  fallen  trees  where 
he  and  Sam  "stood  off"  the  Apaches.  Then  they 
rode  away  down  to  where  Sam  had  first  been 
swarmed  around  by  the  Mescaleros,  and  there  was 
Sam  to  tell  about  it. 

"Colorado!"  remarked  he,  "but  didn't  they 
butcher  a  lot  of  cattle !  They  got  about  a  dozen 
mules,  thirty  good  hosses,  and  sixty  or  seventy 
second-rates  and  ponies.  Mounted  their  whole  band, 
I  reckon!" 

"I  don't  care  so  much  about  that,"  said  Mrs. 
Evans,  but  she  was  looking  at  Cal  just  then. 

"Vic,"  said  Cal,  "you  was  three  years  at  school, 
away  off  there  in  the  settlements,  and  so  was  I." 

"No  Indians  there,"  said  Vic. 


60  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

"Good  thing  you  was,"  said  Sam.  "I  never  had 
any  schooling.  Hope  you  learned  a  heap." 

"Hope  I  did,"  said  Cal,  "but  I  tell  you  what,  it 
seems  to  me  as  if  I'd  learned  more  in  one  day's 
riding." 

"Well,  yes,  like  enough,"  replied  Sam,  "more  of 
one  kind.  Glad  you  didn't  learn  how  an  arrer  feels. 
I  did,  once.  Bullet,  too.  Tell  you  what,  though,  if 
you  go  on  the  trail  with  your  father  and  the  captain, 
I  reckon  you'll  learn  some  more." 

"I've  seen  a  great  many  Indians,"  began  Vic,  "but 
they  were  all  friendly  except — " 

"Colorado !"  suddenly  exclaimed  Sam.  "Four  of 
'em!  Heading  right  for  us!  Don't  shoot,  Cal. 
Keep  a  good  ready,  but  don't  throw  lead  if  you  can 
help  it.  It  beats  me !" 

Mrs.  Evans  reined  her  horse  close  along  side  of 
Vic's  pony,  but  said  nothing.  Her  fale  was  pale, 
but  that  of  Vic's  was  flushed  fiery  red.  So  was  Cal's 
as  he  touched  Dick  with  his  heel  and  sent  him  for 
ward  head-and-head  with  Sam's  gray. 

Four  unmistakable  red  warriors,  armed  to  the 
teeth,  were  rapidly  riding  nearer. 

"Mother,"  exclaimed  Vic,  "I'm  ready." 

"So  am  I,"  said  Mrs.  Evans,  sharply.  "We  can 
both  help." 

Each  had  a  revolver  in  her  hand,  and  Vic  after 
wards  remembered  how  glad  she  felt,  just  then,  of 
all  her  target  practice.  Her  thought  was,  "I  can  hit 
one,  I  know  I  can." 

The  leading  idea  in  Cal's  mind  was  that  his  hero- 
time  had  come,  and  that  he  alone  was  quite  enough 
for  four  Apaches.  The  expression  upon  his  face, 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  61 

during  about  two  minutes,  was  tremendously  heroic. 
He  glanced  behind  him  and  saw  just  such  another 
look  upon  that  of  Vic,  but  the  smile  his  mother 
gave  him  made  him  feel  like  a  whole  regiment  of 
cavalry. 

"Isn't  he  splendid!"  said  Vic. 

Just  then  the  four  red  men  halted.  They  were 
only  twenty  yards  away,  and  it  might  be  that  they 
were  getting  ready  to  shoot.  They  were  conferring 
for  a  brief  moment. 

Cal  drew  rein,  as  Sam  did,  at  the  same  time,  and 
one  of  the  Indians  rode  forward  holding  out  his 
right  hand,  palm  up. 

"How?"  he  said.  "Chiricahua  chief  want  Sam? 
Ugh!  Heap  friend." 

"Colorado !"  exclaimed  the  cowboy.  "That's  it, 
Cal.  They're  the  friendly  Chiracahua-Apache  scouts 
the  captain  sent  for  first  time  you  met  him.  They 
want  me  to  go  'long  and  show  'em  the  trail.  Reg'lar 
bloodhounds." 

He  turned  in  his  saddle  and  shouted,  "Ladies,  it's 
all  right,"  and  in  a  moment  more  he  and  Cal  were 
shaking  hands  with  their  new  acquaintances. 

"What  hideous-looking  men  they  are !"  exclaimed 
Vic,  for  at  that  moment  they  were  smiling,  and  the 
one  holding  Cal's  hand  was  saying,  "Ugh!  Boy, 
heap  ride.  Heap  good  pony.  Ride  big  sleep. 
'Pache  'calp  him;  he  no  wake  up.  Lose  hair  all 
same." 

That  was  evidently  meant  for  a  good-humored 
joke.  Mrs.  Evans  and  Vic  had  to  shake  hands  with 
them  next,  and  then  rode  away  with  Cal  towards 
Santa  Lucia,  while  Sam  and  the  wild-looking  scouts 


62  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

set  out  for  an  examination  of  all  the  traces  left  be 
hind  by  Kah-go-mish  and  his  warriors. 

"The  two  bands,  Chiricahuas  and  Mescaleros,  are 
almost  like  different  tribes,"  was  the  explanation  Vic 
received  from  her  mother. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE   HACIENDA  OF   SANTA   LUCIA. 

EARLY  in  the  afternoon  of  the  fourth  day  after 
the  red  mustang  and  the  regular-army  black 
brought  Cal  home  to  Santa  Lucia,  the  ranch  wore  a 
very  peaceful  appearance.  No  cavalry  were  camped 
near  it.  There  was  not  now  any  American  flag 
floating  from  the  staff  on  the  roof  of  the  hacienda, 
and  there  was  not  wind  enough  to  have  made  one 
float  if  it  had  been  there. 

No  cattle  were  grazing  within  sight  of  anybody 
standing  at  the  stockade  gate.  That  was  closed  and 
barred  in  an  unusually  inhospitable  manner,  and  no 
wayfarer  could  ride  in  without  first  explaining  him 
self.  There  was  reason  in  it,  for  Santa  Lucia  now 
contained  only  one  man  to  strengthen  the  brave  fe 
male  garrison  which  had  held  it  against  the  intended 
surprise-party  of  Kah-go-mish.  More  men  would  be 
there  at  sunset,  on  the  return  of  the  herders,  and  no 
Indians  were  believed  to  be  within  a  very  long 
distance. 

A  wide  awning  had  been  stretched  out  from  the 
veranda,  and  there  were  two  or  three  chairs  under 
the  awning,  but  they  were  empty. 

Norah  McLory  and  a  couple  of  the  Mexican 
women  were  busy  with  some  tubs  in  the  courtyard. 
The  windows  looking  into  it  were  not  narrow  slits 
like  those  outside.  They  were  wide  enough,  had 

63 


64  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

swinging  sashes  in  them,  and  they  gave  the  old  adobe 
less  the  appearance  of  being  either  a  fort  or  a  prison. 
Most  of  them  were  curtained,  and  the  curtains  of  a 
pair  opposite  the  open  side  of  the  square  were  very 
handsome.  Just  beyond  one  of  these  curtains  stood 
Mrs.  Evans,  with  her  arms  around  her  daughter. 
If  anything  were  troubling  Vic's  mind,  the  face  she 
was  looking  into  must  have  had  comfort  in  it.  Mrs. 
Evans  was  one  of  those  women  who  are  remarkable, 
and  have  no  need  of  proving  it  to  make  people  be 
lieve  it.  She  was  of  medium  height  and  not  at  all 
robust  in  appearance,  although  in  excellent  health. 
There  was  hardly  a  tinge  of  gray  in  her  auburn  hair, 
her  cheeks  were  smooth,  her  brown  eyes  were  bright 
and  pleasant,  and  her  voice  was  full  and  musical. 
Those  who  had  heard  it  once  wished  to  hear  it  again, 
even  if  they  wondered  what  there  was  in  it  that  made 
them  go  and  do  just  as  she  told  them.  It  was  a 
grand  thing  for  a  young  cowboy,  like  Cal  Evans,  to 
have  such  a  mother  away  out  there  upon  the  plains, 
and  was  equally  good  for  Vic,  especially  at  such  a 
time  as  had  now  come. 

The  room  itself  was  as  nearly  like  a  large  parlor 
in  an  Eastern  mansion  as  such  a  room  in  such  a  build 
ing  could  be  made.  Colonel  Evans  had  refused  to 
count  up  how  many  head  of  cattle  the  furniture  had 
cost  him,  including  the  piano  and  the  wagoning  of  it 
from  Sante  Fe. 

Mrs.  Evans  had  not  stopped  there,  for  her  china 
and  other  elegances  enabled  her  to  set  a  well-fur 
nished  table,  and  her  kitchen  garden  in  one  corner 
of  the  stockade,  with  her  hen-coops,  provided  some 
thing  better  than  the  beef  and  bacon  and  corn-bread 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  65 

supplied  to  hungry  people  at  most  New  Mexican 
ranches. 

More  than  one  Indian  chief  to  whom  Mrs.  Evans 
had  given  a  dinner  had  declared  it  "good  medicine," 
not  understanding  that  his  own  race  was  passing 
away  because  the  chickens  and  the  potato-patches 
were  coming. 

Army-men,  officers  and  soldiers,  had  ridden  away 
from  Santa  Lucia,  remarking  of  Cal's  mother: 
"Very  uncommon  woman.  But  how  did  she  get 
those  things  to  grow  'way  down  here?" 

Mexican  herders  in  the  colonel's  employ  had  also 
discussed  the  matter,  and  had  decided  that  no  melon  or 
bean  or  hill  of  corn  or  other  vegetable  dared  refuse 
to  grow  after  getting  orders  from  the  "Senora." 

Perhaps  the  most  remarkable  thing,  after  all,  was 
the  fact  that  such  a  lady,  with  all  her  refinement  and 
cultivation,  should  say  that  she  preferred  a  ranch 
life  at  Santa  Lucia  to  any  other  kind  of  life  any 
where. 

She  was  saying  so  now  to  Victoria.  Vic  would 
have  been  a  smaller  pattern  of  her  mother,  but  for 
a  tinge  of  red  in  her  hair  and  something  saucy  about 
her  nose  and  mouth.  That  is,  on  ordinary  occasions, 
but  not  just  now,  for  she  was  looking  blue  enough. 

"Mother,"  she  said,  "father  never  gets  hurt,  but 
Cal  is  so  young.  The  Indians,  mother,  and  there 
may  be  fighting.  I  almost  hate  this  country.  I'd 
rather  be  where  no  savages  can  come." 

"They  will  never  come,  Vic." 

"They  did  come,  this  time  !  I  saw  them  from  the 
roof.  Some  of  them  come  along  here  every  now 
and  then." 


66  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

"Peaceably,  my  dear.  It's  a  wonder  to  me  that 
they  touched  anything  of  ours.  If  everybody  had 
dealt  with  them  as  your  father  has  there  would  not 
be  any  fighting." 

"He  went  away  angry  enough,"  said  Vic. 

"Not  angry  enough  to  hurt  any  Indian  without 
necessity.  If  there  should  be  any  fighting — " 

"Seems  to  me  I  can't  think  he  could  kill  anybody, 
or  be  killed;  but  Cal  is  so  young!" 

"Victoria,"  said  her  mother,  almost  laughing, 
"Cal  is  a  smaller  mark  than  your  father,  and  not 
half  so  likely  to  get  hit.  I  hope  they  will  bring  the 
horses  back  with  them." 

"You  are  a  wonderful  woman,  mother.  Were  you 
ever  really  afraid  of  anything?" 

Mrs.  Evans  thought  for  a  moment,  and  then  re 
plied,  "Yes,  Vic,  the  other  day.  I  was  afraid  we'd 
not  get  our  soldier  scarecrows  ready  before  the 
Apaches  came.  Then,  too,  they  might  have  met 
your  father.  I  thought  of  that,  but  I  wasn't  really 
afraid  that  they  had.  I  think  I  was  made  to  live 
here." 

That  was  the  truth  of  the  matter,  and  she  soon 
convinced  Victoria  that  the  time  to  be  nervous  had 
not  yet  arrived.  It  was  true  that  Colonel  Evans  and 
Cal  and  a  dozen  cowboys  had  gone  with  Captain 
Moore  and  the  cavalry  to  trail  the  thieving  Mesca- 
leros  and  bring  back  the  horses,  but  the  Indians  had 
three  days  the  start,  and  were  not  likely  to  be  caught 
up  with  at  once. 

"There  may  not  be  any  fighting,  even  then," 
said  Mrs.  Evans;  but  Victoria  did  not  find  any  use 
for  her  piano  that  day. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  TARGET  ON  THE   ROCK. 

IT  was  the  very  hour  when  Mrs.  Evans  and  Vic 
were  talking,  at  Santa  Lucia,  about  the  cavalry 
and  cowboy  expedition  which  had  gone  in  search  of 
the  Apaches.  Many  a  long  mile  to  the  southward  of 
the  old  hacienda  the  sun  shone  hotly  down  upon  the 
rugged  slope  of  a  spur  of  a  range  of  mountains.  At 
the  bottom  of  the  slope  ran  a  wide  trail  which  had 
been  used  by  wagons,  and  was  almost  like  a  road. 
Along  its  narrow  pathway  of  sand  and  shale  rode  a 
straggling  cavalcade  of  extraordinary-looking  horse 
men.  About  half  of  them  carried  lances  and  wore 
a  showy  green  and  yellow  uniform.  All  had  firearms 
in  abundance,  and  most  of  them  had  long  sabres 
rattling  at  their  sides.  There  seemed  to  be  a  pro 
fusion  of  silver  ornaments,  even  on  men  as  well  as 
upon  bridles  and  saddles,  but  there  were  also  a  num 
ber  of  badly  battered  sombreros  and  ragged  scrapes. 
What  is  a  sombrero?  It  is  any  sort  of  very  wide- 
brimmed,  low-crowned  hat,  and  can  be  made  to  carry 
much  tinsel  and  feathers.  As  for  a  serape,  one  can 
be  made  out  of  any  blanket  by  cutting  a  hole  in  the 
middle  of  it,  so  that  it  will  hang  gracefully  around 
the  man  or  woman  whose  head  has  been  pushed 
through  the  hole.  It  was  not  easy  to  say  whether 
the  gay  officer  commanding  the  gaudy  lancers,  or  the 

67 


68  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

remarkably  tattered  peon  who  led  the  last  string  of 
pack-mules,  at  the  rear,  was  really  the  most  pictur 
esque  Mexican  of  that  cavalcade. 

On  the  slope  above  them,  less  than  three  hundred 
yards  from  the  trail,  a  great  bowlder  of  gray  granite 
stood  out  prominently  from  the  bushes  and  the 
smaller  lumps  of  rock  around  it. 

On  the  bowlder,  at  its  very  edge,  stood  the  figure 
of  a  man  who  was  even  more  noteworthy  than  were 
the  officer  and  the  peon.  His  arms  were  folded,  so 
that  two  red  stocking-legs  spanned  his  broad  chest; 
his  silk  hat,  with  a  green-veil  streamer,  was  cocked 
on  one  side  defiantly;  his  attitude  was  that  of  a  man 
who  did  not  fear  all  Mexico,  and  the  loudly  uttered 
words  he  sent  down  at  the  horsemen  were :  "Kah-go- 
mish  is  a  great  chief !" 

Whether  or  not  they  believed  him,  and  although 
he  had  given  them  no  apparent  cause  for  considering 
him  an  enemy,  horseman  after  horseman  lifted  car 
bine  or  revolver  and  blazed  away  at  the  Mescalero 
leader.  Bullet  after  bullet  buzzed  in  among  the 
bushes  and  rocks  above  and  behind  him,  but  not  a 
muscle  of  his  tall  form  flinched. 

All  practised  riflemen  know  that  a  mark  posted 
as  he  was  is  difficult  to  hit,  even  at  short  range  and 
in  shadow,  and  that  the  difficulty  magnifies  with 
distance  and  a  sunny  glare. 

There  stood  Kah-go-mish,  and  while  report  after 
report  rang  out  in  the  narrow  valley,  and  called 
forth  echoes  from  among  the  crags,  he  exhausted  all 
he  knew  of  Spanish  and  was  compelled  to  help  it 
with  his  native  Apache  dialect,  and  even  then  seemed 
unable  to  express  his  opinion  of  the  marksmen.  He 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  69 

had  much  to  say  concerning  his  own  great  and  good 
qualities  and  those  of  his  people,  but  declared  that 
all  the  unpleasant  reptiles  and  insects  and  quadru 
peds  he  could  name  were  serving  as  Mexicans  that 
afternoon.  He  shouted  to  them  that  they  did  not 
even  know  how  to  shoot.  If  they  had  been  Gringoes 
(Yankees)  of  the  lowest  order,  he  said  he  might  be 
in  danger  from  their  bullets,  but,  as  it  was,  the  man 
they  aimed  at  was  safer  than  any  other  man  within 
range. 

The  Mexican  caballeros  may  or  may  not  have 
been  able  to  understand  any  part  of  that  hailstorm 
of  hard  words,  but  Kah-go-mish  had  an  audience  and 
was  not  wasting  his  eloquence.  He  and  his  bowlder 
seemed  to  be  alone,  jutting  out  from  the  slope,  but 
that  was  an  optical  illusion.  That  knob  of  granite 
stood  upon  the  outer  rim  of  a  wide,  ragged,  bushy 
ledge,  and  at  no  great  distance  there  began  a 
shadowy  growth  of  forest.  The  broken  level  be 
hind  Kah-go-mish  was  peopled  by  scores  of  braves 
and  squaws  and  younger  people,  proving  that  the 
two  sections  of  his  band  had  reunited.  Dogs  ran 
hither  and  thither,  while  ponies  and  horses  could  be 
seen  among  the  trees.  One  dog  in  particular  did  his 
futile  best  to  climb  the  bowlder,  and  then  sat  down 
under  a  furze  bush  and  yelped  with  all  his  might 
at  the  cavalcade,  as  if  in  sympathy  with  the  chief  of 
his  band  of  Apaches. 

At  the  right  of  the  granite  bowlder,  and  several 
paces  from  the  edge  of  the  ledge,  were  some  huge 
fragments  of  red  basalt  rock.  In  front  of  these 
crouched  a  group  which  gazed  at  Kah-go-mish  with 
unmistakable  pride.  In  the  middle  sat  Wah-wah- 


70  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

o-be,  bonnet  and  all.  Against  her,  on  the  right,  was 
curled  the  form  of  the  young  lady  in  the  wonderful 
red  dress,  and  she  looked  almost  pretty  as  her  black 
eyes  flashed  with  admiration  of  her  father's  magnifi 
cent  heroism  and  oratory.  At  the  left  of  Wah-wah- 
o-be,  the  boy  in  the  Reservation  trousers  stood 
sturdily  erect,  but  nothing  could  make  him  handsome 
or  take  from  his  broad,  dark  face  the  look  of  half- 
anxious  dulness  which  belonged  there.  His  beady 
eyes  glittered,  and  he  showed  his  white  teeth,  now 
and  then,  but  his  very  smile  was  dull.  He  leaned 
back  against  the  rock,  and  just  then  a  something 
came  whizzing  past  his  head,  and  there  was  a  slightly 
stinging  sensation  in  his  left  ear.  He  did  not  wince, 
but  he  lifted  his  hand  quickly  to  his  ear,  and  there 
sprang  to  his  lips  an  involuntary  imitation  of  the 
sound  made  by  the  ragged  ounce  ball  of  lead  when 
it  struck  the  crumbling  basalt. 

"Z-st-ping!"  he  said,  and  the  sound  was  caught  up 
by  other  voices. 

"Ping — ping — ping,"  ran  from  lip  to  lip,  and 
some  laughed  merrily,  for  all  had  heard  the  whiz 
and  thud  of  the  deadly  missiles  which  were  coming 
up  from  the  valley,  although  they  and  Wah-wah- 
o-be  had  deemed  themselves  entirely  sheltered. 

Kah-go-mish  had  at  that  moment  turned  for  a 
glance  at  his  family,  and  he  uttered  a  loud  whoop,  as 
if  of  pleasure.  At  the  same  breath  he  came  down 
from  his  rock  with  a  great,  staglike  bound,  and  stood 
among  them. 

"Wah-wah-o-be,  look  I"  he  said.    "Ugh !" 

He  had  no  need  to  point,  for  she  was  already 
aware  that  the  ragged  edge  of  the  bit  of  lead  had 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  71 

made  a  deep  scratch  in  her  son's  ear.    She  was  both 
very  proud  and  very  angry. 

"Ping!"  she  exclaimed,  as  if  the  sound  had  ac 
quired  a  new  meaning. 

"Ugh!"  said  Kah-go-mish.    "Ping!" 

As  for  the  boy  himself,  the  dulness  almost  van 
ished  from  his  face  in  his  exultation  at  having  been 
so  nearly  hit,  actually  grazed,  by  a  rifle-ball.  His 
sister  came  around  to  stare  at  the  scratch,  and  then 
his  own  quick  eyes  caught  something. 

"Tah-nu-nu!"  he  said,  and  pointed  at  the  wide 
fold  of  her  red  calico.  It  was  torn.  A  Mexican 
bullet  had  found  its  way  through  the  furze  bushes, 
and  Tah-nu-nu  had  been  almost  as  much  in  peril, 
the  moment  she  stood  erect,  as  her  brother  had  been. 

Wah-wah-o-be's  wrath  boiled  over.  The  Apaches 
pay  more  of  respect  to  their  squaws  than  do  some 
other  tribes,  and  the  chief's  wife  was  a  woman  who 
was  likely  to  demand  all  that  belonged  to  her. 

Kah-go-mish  had  stood  upon  the  rock  to  be  fired 
at  by  the  rancheros  for  the  glory  of  it,  and  was 
almost  too  proud  of  so  great  an  exploit  to  lose  his 
temper  at  once.  He  was  beginning  to  say  something 
about  Mexican  marksmanship  when  he  was  inter 
rupted  by  Wah-wah-o-be.  She  had  feelings  of  her 
own,  if  he  had  not.  She  pointed  at  her  son's  ear, 
and  again  she  said  "Ping!" 

The  bullet  might  have  wantonly  murdered  any 
member  of  her  family,  or  any  of  her  neighbors.  She 
made  rapid  remarks  about  it,  of  such  a  nature  that 
Kah-go-mish  felt  a  change  going  on  in  his  mind. 
Other  ears  had  heard,  and  the  voices  of  braves  and 
squaws  seemed  to  agree  with  that  of  Wah-wah-o-be. 


72  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

All  had  fallen  back  from  the  dangerous  margin,  and 
it  would  have  looked  a  little  like  a  council  if  a  squaw 
had  not  been  the  speaker.  There  was  very  little 
red  upon  the  ear  of  Ping,  but  it  served  her  as  a 
representative  of  all  the  wrongs  ever  done  to  the 
Apaches  by  the  white  men,  including  that  of  cooping 
them  in  upon  the  Reservation,  where  she  had  ob 
tained  her  bonnet,  and  where  they  had  all  but  starved 
for  lack  of  game. 

The  blood  of  Kah-go-mish  reached  the  right  heat 
at  last,  and  his  hand  arose  to  his  mouth  to  help  out 
the  largest,  longest,  fiercest  war-woop  he  knew  any 
thing  about. 

"Kah-go-mish  is  a  great  chief!" 

He  said  this  as  he  strode  away  towards  the  trees, 
waving  back  all  the  rest  with  his  hands.  Warriors 
and  squaws,  boys  and  girls,  they  at  once  seemed  to 
arrange  themselves  for  a  good  look  at  whatever 
their  great  man  might  be  about  to  do. 

He  was  gone  but  a  few  minutes,  and  returned, 
leading  a  mean-looking,  under-sized,  disreputable 
pony,  upon  whose  head  he  had  placed  a  miserable, 
worn-out  bridle. 

He  did  not  utter  a  word  to  Wah-wah-o-be,  but 
upon  the  ground  before  her  he  deposited  a  handsome 
rifle,  a  bow  and  arrows,  and  a  lance.  He  took  from 
his  belt  the  revolver  and  laid  it  beside  the  other 
weapons,  and  upon  them  all  he  placed  the  green-veil- 
plumed  silk  hat  and  the  red  stocking-legs.  He  osten 
tatiously  called  attention  to  the  fact  that  he  retained 
nothing  but  his  heavy  bowie-knife.  Armed  with  only 
that  weapon,  and  mounted  upon  his  worst  pony,  he, 
the  great  chief,  the  hero,  was  about  to  depart  upon 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  73 

a  war-path  against  the  coyotes,  the  buzzards,  the 
tarantulas,  the  red  ants,  the  lost  dogs — namely,  the 
Mexicans  of  Chihuahua,  or  any  other  Mexicans. 
He  would  make  them  pay  bitterly  for  having  wasted 
so  much  ammunition  that  day. 

The  announcement  of  the  chief's  purpose  was  re 
ceived  with  whoops  and  yells  of  approbation.  Wah- 
wah-o-be  seemed  to  overlook  any  possible  peril  of 
losing  her  husband  altogether.  She  may  have  been 
hardened  by  a  long  habit  of  seeing  him  come  home 
safe. 

Kah-go-mish  gave  some  rapid  orders  to  one  brave 
after  another,  mounted  his  pony  while  others  were 
gathering  their  own,  and  then  he  rode  straight  into 
the  side  of  the  mountain,  followed  by  his  whole  band 
— horses,  dogs,  and  all.  That  is,  it  would  have  so 
appeared  to  any  white  man  standing  at  the  foot  of 
the  granite  bowlder,  but  it  was  only  a  good  illustra 
tion  of  the  magical  arts  by  which  the  Indian  medi 
cine-men  make  it  so  difficult  for  green  white  men  in 
blue  uniforms  to  catch  red  runaways.  Uniformity  of 
color  in  quartz  and  granite,  or  other  ledges,  provides 
for  a  part  of  the  mystery.  Shrubs  and  trees  and 
distances  help,  and  so,  often,  does  their  absence.  A 
great  break  in  the  side  of  that  spur  of  the  Sierra 
was  as  invisible  from  the  pass  as  if  it  had  been  hid 
den  by  snow  or  midnight.  It  was  a  chasm  which  led 
in  two  directions  from  that  point.  Kah-go-mish 
waved  his  hand  authoritatively  and  wheeled  his  pony 
to  the  left,  to  the  southward,  towards  Mexico.  His 
warriors  and  his  family,  and  all  other  members  of 
the  band,  dogs  included,  turned  northward,  to  the 
right,  carrying  ^with  them  positive  assurances  as  to 


74  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

the  place,  and  very  nearly  as  to  the  time,  when  they 
might  again  hope  to  see  and  admire  their  leader. 

During  his  absence  the  command  fell  to  a  short, 
broad-shouldered  warrior,  who  walked  dreadfully 
intoed,  and  who  seemed  to  stand  very  much  in  awe 
of  Wah-wah-o-be.  She,  on  the  other  hand,  was  evi 
dently  well  satisfied  with  the  course  which  affairs 
were  taking.  She  had  picked  up  the  weapons  so 
heroically  laid  upon  the  ground  by  her  husband,  and 
she  had  helped  Tah-nu-nu  and  Ping  to  gather  the 
ponies  of  the  family.  She  had  said  a  great  many- 
things  while  doing  so,  for  one  point  in  her  superi 
ority  to  other  squaws  was  the  capacity  of  her  tongue 
for  expressing  her  ideas. 

The  whole  band  had  an  almost  prosperous  appear 
ance,  very  different  from  that  which  it  had  worn  just 
before  it  began  to  swarm  around  Sam  Herrick  and 
the  drove  of  horses.  Lodge-poles  had  been  cut,  now 
that  there  were  ponies  to  drag  them.  Hardly  any 
body  was  on  foot,  except  a  few  braves  whose  half- 
trained,  spirited  horses  were  likely  to  require  leading 
over  narrow  and  pokerish  mountain-passes. 

Kah-go-mish  rode  on  alone  in  one  direction  and 
the  band  went  in  the  other,  and  both  were  shortly 
buried  in  the  deep,  cool  gloom  of  the  shadowy 
chasms. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE   STORY  OF  A  LOG 

THE  red  mustang  was  in  excellent  health,  and  he 
was  also  in  high  spirits.  So  was  his  master, 
and  they  were  nearly  agreed  upon  another  point. 
Dick  evidently  believed  that  any  trail  whatever 
ought  to  be  followed  at  full  speed,  and  Cal  fretted 
continually  over  the  steady  plodding  commanded  by 
Captain  Moore.  Cal  was  glad  that  in  his  first  In 
dian  campaign  he  was  to  have  so  much  first-class 
help,  including  the  four  Chiricahua-Apache  scouts. 
He  had  confidence  in  his  father  and  in  the  captain, 
as  men  of  experience  in  such  matters,  but  at  last  he 
could  hardly  help  mentioning  to  Sam  Herrick  the 
joint  criticism  made  by  himself  and  Dick.  "Why, 
Sam,"  he  remarked,  "the  red-skins  have  three  days 
the  start  of  us,  and  Captain  Moore  isn't  in  any  kind 
of  hurry.  They  must  be  gaining  on  us." 

"That's  not  of  much  account,  Cal,"  said  Sam,  "so 
long  as  their  trail  stays  in  this  country.  They're 
camped  at  the  end  of  it  to-night.  So  they  will  be 
every  night  till  they  get.  to  the  far  end  of  it,  and 
there  we'll  find  'em,  unless  they  cross  over  into 
Mexico." 

"And  if  they  do  that?"  asked  Cal. 

"Mexico's  a  hot  place  for  Indians  just  now,"  re- 

75 


76  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

plied  Sam.  "Troops  moving;  militia  called  out. 
These  fellows  couldn't  stay  there." 

The  far  end  of  an  Indian  trail  is  sometimes  a  curi 
ous  thing  to  hunt  for,  as  Sam  went  on  to  explain. 
It  may  get  lost  in  the  sand,  or  among  the  mountains, 
or  in  the  snow,  or  somebody  may  hide  it  or  steal  it, 
or  a  heavy  rain  may  wash  it  all  out. 

"Well,"  said  Cal,  "one  thing's  sure.  If  we  should 
come  near  'em,  and  have  to  chase  'em,  the  horses 
won't  be  too  travel-tired  for  good  running." 

"Exactly  so,"  said  Sam.  "That's  what  the  cap 
tain's  up  to." 

The  cavalry  and  cowboy  camp,  that  night,  was  as 
safe  as  Santa  Lucia,  but  there  was  something  like  a 
disturbance  in  another  place. 

The  party  of  rancheros  and  Chiricahua  militia 
who  had  blazed  away  at  Kah-go-mish  may  have  been 
a  kind  of  scouting-party.  They  had  escaped  destruc 
tion  by  not  following  him  up  the  slope,  and  they 
afterwards  had  not  many  miles  to  ride  before  they 
reached  a  camp  to  which  they  evidently  belonged. 
One  small  corner  of  that  camp  had  an  appearance  of 
good  order,  where  an  experienced  officer  of  the 
Mexican  army  was  in  command  of  a  few  disciplined 
soldiers.  All  the  remainder  of  it  seemed  to  bear  the 
likeness  of  a  grand  military  picnic,  where  all  the 
men  who  had  tickets  were  free  to  have  a  good  time 
in  any  manner  they  might  please.  Very  soon  after 
supper  most  of  them  pleased  to  lie  down  and  go  to 
sleep,  while  others  sat  up  to  smoke  and  play 
cards. 

Of  course  there  could  not  be  any  danger  threaten 
ing  a  force  of  over  four  hundred  men,  all  so  warlike, 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  77 

so  soldierly,  so  completely  ready  to  whip  any  tribe 
of  mere  red  Indians.  Besides,  no  important  band 
of  hostiles  was  known  or  believed  to  be  in  that 
vicinity.  There  might  have  been  a  better  watch 
kept  that  night,  nevertheless,  especially  at  the  corral 
where  all  their  horses  were  picketed. 

This  had  been  made  along  the  bank  of  the  deep, 
still  stream  which  supplied  the  camp  with  ice-water 
from  the  Sierra  Madre.  Nobody  ever  heard  of  any 
fellow  taking  a  swim  in  such  cold  water  as  that 
was.  It  was  cold  enough  to  chill  the  bones  of  a 
mountain  trout.  Of  course  no  one  did  undertake  to 
swim  in  it,  but,  at  about  midnight,  a  log  came  float 
ing  down.  There  was  a  large  knot  on  one  side  of 
the  log.  The  current  or  something  carried  it  against 
the  bank,  right  in  the  middle  of  the  corral,  and  either 
there  were  two  logs,  or  that  log  divided,  for  one  log 
floated  off  down  stream,  while  the  other  log  crept 
out  on  shore,  stood  erect,  and  walked  stealthily 
around  among  the  horses.  The  knot  was  carried  on 
the  upper  end  of  this  log,  and  the  other  went  off 
without  any. 

Very  quickly  were  four  of  the  best  horses  fixed 
with  four  of  the  best  saddles  and  bridles  from  among 
the  long  rows  at  the  edge  of  the  corral.  The  log  did 
it,  and  added  holsters  with  revolvers  in  them  and 
two  bundles  of  fine  lances  and  some  good  American 
carbines,  and  two  full  straddle  packs  of  cartridges. 
The  sentries  of  the  corral  were  all  stationed  away 
outside  of  the  place  where  that  peculiar  log  was  at 
work.  All  but  two  of  them  were  asleep,  as  the 
guardians  of  so  strong  and  warlike  a  camp  had  a 
right  to  be. 


78  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

Now  the  log  crept  around  until  it  found  a  path 
leading  out  southerly,  past  a  sentry  who  was  sleep 
ing  very  soundly  indeed.  Then  it  went  back  into  the 
corral  and  led  out  the  four  saddled  and  bridled 
horses,  with  four  others  following  that  wore  only 
halters,  but  carried  securely  strapped  burdens,  se 
lected  and  fitted  by  the  log. 

There  was  a  brilliant  moonlight,  so  that  there  was 
no  danger  whatever  to  the  camp  from  Indians,  and 
the  log  led  the  horses  on  until  it  became  wise  to  go 
ahead  and  see  if  there  had  been  any  picket  posted  at 
the  place  and  distance  at  which  one  might  have  been 
expected. 

"Ugh !"  exclaimed  the  log,  as  it  went  back  for  the 
horses.  "Mexican!  No  blue-coat !" 

That  was  a  compliment  to  such  men  as  Captain 
Moore,  but  then  the  log  was  doing  what  no  kind  of 
fellow  would  have  undertaken  with  "blue-coats." 
It  now  mounted  one  of  the  horses  and  led  on  up  the 
stream,  to  a  place  it  seemed  to  know  about,  where 
the  water  was  wide  and  shallow  and  could  be  easily 
forded.  On  crossing  it  the  log  was  still  at  no  great 
distance  from  the  camp,  but  upon  higher  ground. 
Looking  down,  it  could  have  a  good  view  of  the 
smouldering  camp-fires  and  the  sleeping  Mexicans, 
for  tents  there  were  not. 

"Kah-go-mish  is  a  great  chief!"  exclaimed  the 
knot  at  the  top  of  the  log,  exultingly.  "Ugh !  Got 
heap  hoss,  heap  saddle,  heap  gun,  heap  all  plunder. 
Ugh !  Mexican  shoot  at  him  on  rock.  Wonder  how 
feel  now,  pretty  soon.  Ugh  !" 

An  irrepressible  whoop  of  triumph  burst  from 
him. 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  79 

"Ugh  I"  Bad  medicine,"  he  said.  "Great  chief 
let  mouth  go  off  like  boy." 

He  had  not  lost  his  wits,  however,  and  he  fol 
lowed  that  whoop  with  a  dozen  more,  a  whole  series 
of  fierce,  ear-splitting  screeches,  while  he  rapidly 
emptied  the  nine  chambers  of  the  captured  carbine 
and  the  six  of  a  revolver.  He  aimed  at  the  camp- 
fires  and  with  tip-top  success,  testified  to  by  sudden 
showers  of  sparks  and  brands  which  flew  around 
among  the  startled  sleepers. 

Great  was  the  uproar  in  that  astonished  camp. 
Seven  gallant  fellows  who  had  bugles  began  to  blow 
for  dear  life  the  moment  they  were  upon  their  feet. 
Every  officer  began  to  shout  orders  as  soon  as  he 
was  awake,  and  some  seemed  to  begin  even  earlier. 
They  exhibited  tremendous  presence  of  mind,  but 
no  soldier  received  the  same  order  from  any  two  of 
them.  Within  a  minute,  at  least  a  hundred  men  were 
at  their  posts  of  danger  behind  something  or  other, 
while  three  hundred  more  were  making  a  blind  rush 
for  the  corral.  The  sentries  had  all  fired  their  pieces 
at  once,  and  now  there  began  a  general  popping  of 
guns  and  pistols  at  the  awful  shadows  beyond  the 
little  river. 

Kah-go-mish  could  hardly  have  wished  for  any 
thing  better.  He  wheeled  and  rode  rapidly  away, 
followed  by  the  string  of  horses  which  he  had  re 
garded  as  the  fee  due  to  him  for  being  made  a 
target  of. 

He  had  not  been  killed,  then,  no  thanks  to  the 
Mexicans,  and  he  had  not  killed  anybody  now,  deem 
ing  it  imprudent  to  take  any  scalps  under  the  cir 
cumstances.  He  had  again,  however,  proved  his 


8o  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

claim  to  be  considered  an  extraordinary  collector  of 
enemy's  horses,  and  that  is  a  high  fame  to  win 
among  the  wild  tribes  of  the  southwest.  As  for  the 
righteousness  of  what  he  had  done,  in  his  own  eyes, 
he  was  a  commanding  officer  of  Mescalero  Apaches, 
and  his  ^people  were  at  war  with  Mexico,  as  the 
rancherds  and  militia  had  declared  so  recklessly. 
He  made  war  in  a  manner  every  inch  as  civilized  as 
their  own,  and  thought  well  of  himself  for  so  doing. 
He  said  so,  quite  a  number  of  times,  that  night,  as  he 
rode  on  deeper  and  deeper  into  the  rugged  passes  of 
the  Sierras.  About  daylight  he  came  to  an  open, 
shaded  spot,  by  a  spring,  where  there  was  grass  for 
his  prizes,  and  where  he  could  build  a  fire  and  then 
find  out  what  there  might  be  for  breakfast  in  a  very 
fat  haversack  which  hung  from  one  of  the  saddles. 
As  for  the  Mexican  cavalry,  of  all  sorts,  they  be 
haved  well,  and  the  officer  in  supreme  command  at 
last  succeeded  in  substituting  his  own  orders  for 
those  of  his  hasty  subordinates.  He  stationed  a 
strong  force  at  the  ford,  to  prevent  the  supposed 
tribe  of  red  men  which  had  assailed  his  camp  from 
crossing  the  river.  He  threw  out  scouting-parties, 
encouraged  his  men  by  voice  and  example,  urging 
them  to  do  their  duty,  prove  their  attachment  to 
their  flag,  and  to  die  rather  than  surrender.  He 
was  answered  by  enthusiastic  cheers,  and,  when 
morning  came,  he  readily  obtained  from  among  them 
a  body  of  brave  volunteers  who  followed  him  across 
the  ford  to  search  the  dangerous  underbrush  on  the 
hill  from  which  the  hostile  barbarians  had  fired  upon 
the  camp.  The  more  they  searched  the  better  they 
felt,  and  at  last  they  found  a  trace  of  the  enemy. 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  81 

They  captured  a  pony,  bridle  and  all.  It  was  the 
sad-looking  beast  selected  by  Kah-go-mish  as  the 
most  nearly  worthless  of  all  that  he  had  brought 
with  him  from  the  Reservation. 

Eight  militiamen,  one  of  them  a  bugler,  already 
knew  that  the  enemy  had  penetrated  the  corral,  and 
had  gotten  away  again,  but  here  was  a  sort  of  a 
mount  for  one  of  them.  Well,  it  was  a  capture, 
anyhow,  and  a  proof  of  victory,  and  was  spoken  of 
as  "ponies"  in  the  official  report  of  the  manner  in 
which  that  night-attack  had  been  baffled  by  the 
Chiracahua  militia. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

PING  AND  THE    COUGAR. 

WHEN  Kah-go-mish  set  out  upon  his  war-path, 
he  went  by  ways  which  no  white  man's  foot 
had  ever  trod.  His  family  and  followers  began  to 
perform  the  same  feat  in  another  direction. 

Tah-nu-nu  very  nearly  spoiled  a  name  which  was 
beginning  to  grow  upon  her  brother.  It  was  too  long 
for  common  use,  and  it  meant:  "The-boy-whose- 
ear-pushed-away-a-piece-of-lead."  Wah-wah-o-be, 
every  now  and  then,  strung  all  the  syllables  together, 
and  the  whole  was  like  one  of  those  mountain-passes, 
wider  here  and  narrower  there,  but  rugged  all  the 
way.  Tah-nu-nu  cut  it  short  and  called  him  Ping. 

Wah-wah-o-be' s  tongue  and  the  use  she  made  of 
it  helped  such  a  trail  as  that  amazingly.  She  had 
endless  tales  to  tell  concerning  what  her  husband  had 
done  and  was  yet  to  do,  and  of  the  great  deeds  of 
her  nation,  and  of  the  evil  deeds  and  purposes  of  all 
pale-faces. 

The  questions  asked  by  Ping  and  Tah-nu-nu  were 
also  endless.  His  proved  that  he  knew  some  things 
already  and  that  he  had  learned  a  part  of  them 
while  the  band  had  been  upon  the  Reservation. 
Those  of  the  little  Apache  girl  proved  for  her  as 
much  and  more.  She  must  have  thinking  and 
imagining,  and  her  eyes  frequently  took  on  a  soft 

82 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  83 

and  dreamy  look  which  did  not  come  at  all  in  those 
of  her  mother  or  her  brother. 

There  were  not  many  safer  places  in  all  the 
Sierras  than  was  the  little  valley  in  which  the  band 
of  Kah-go-mish  encamped,  an  hour  or  so  before  the 
shadows  became  darkness  among  the  chasms  and 
gorges. 

Ping  ate  a  hearty  supper,  but  he  was  in  trouble. 
Other  boys  and  girls,  and  some  of  the  squaws,  had 
taken  a  notion  of  turning  their  heads  on  one  side 
and  saying  "Ping"  when  they  met  him,  just  as  if  they 
believed  that  he  had  winced  from  the  touch  of  the 
bullet.  He  knew  that  he  had  not  done  so,  but  the 
taunt  stirred  up  within  him  a  very  hot  desire  to  do 
something  heroic,  like  standing  still  to  be  shot  at. 
He  felt  that  it  was  an  awful  injustice  to  ridicule  him 
for  the  very  ear  he  was  so  proud  of.  The  sting  to 
his  vanity  kept  him  in  motion  after  supper,  and  he 
strolled  all  over  the  valley.  No  lodges  had  been 
pitched,  and  the  horses  were  scattered  around,  feed 
ing,  under  the  watchful  care  of  several  braves  whose 
turn  it  was  to  serve  as  "dog-soldiers,"  or  camp 
police. 

The  moonlight  was  brilliant,  but  Ping  had  no  idea 
whether  or  not  the  mountain  scenery  it  lighted  up 
was  grand.  He  did  know  that  it  was  just  the  night 
for  his  father  to  do  great  deeds  in,  or  for  any  wild 
animal  to  prowl  around  after  its  prey.  The  cries  of 
several  had  been  heard  during  the  afternoon  march 
and  since  the  band  halted. 

Wah-wah-o-be  had  told  him  and  Tah-nu-nu  that 
these  Mexican  mountains  fairly  swarmed  with 
Manitous  and  magicians,  most  of  whom  were  favor- 


84  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

able  to  the  Apaches,  but  that  all  of  them  were  more 
or  less  to  be  feared.  For  all  that  Ping  knew,  some 
of  these  unseen  beings  might  be  wandering  up  and 
down  in  that  moonshine  within  arrow-shot  of  him. 
He  felt  safe  in  the  camp,  but  nothing  would  have 
induced  him  to  venture  out  among  them.  He  knew 
very  well  that  any  Indian  who  got  himself  killed  in 
the  dark  did  not  go  to  the  Happy  Hunting-Grounds, 
but  had  an  awful  time  of  it  somewhere.  As  for  the 
wild  animals,  he  had  a  settled  determination  to  kill 
a  grizzly  bear,  some  day,  and  to  have  his  claws  for 
a  collar  of  honor  to  wear  upon  great  occasions.  He 
proposed  to  become  a  mighty  hunter  and  warrior, 
but  just  now  he  felt  sleepy,  and  he  went  back  and  lay 
down  at  the  foot  of  a  pine-tree,  not  far  from  the  rest 
of  his  family. 

Ping's  eyes  closed,  but  another  pair  did  not.  Tah- 
nu-nu's  remained  open  in  spite  of  her.  She  had 
heard  more  stories  than  Ping  had,  and  while  each1 
tale  had  kept  its  old  shape  in  his  mind  it  had  turned 
into  twenty  new  forms  in  her  own. 

That  is  one  difficulty  about  having  an  imagination, 
and  Tah-nu-nu's  had  been  getting  more  and  more 
excited  ever  since  the  Mexican  bullet  tore  her  beau 
tiful  red  dress.  She  kept  thinking,  too,  of  her  heroic 
father  and  of  the  great  things  he  would  have  to  tell 
when  he  should  get  back  from  his  war-path. 

Tah-nu-nu  lacked  only  a  few  years  of  being  a 
grown-up  squaw,  and  Wah-wah-o-be  often  braided 
her  hair  for  her,  like  that  of  a  young  pale-face  lady 
at  the  Reservation  headquarters.  Some  day  a  great 
brave  was  to  come  and  pay  many  ponies  for  her,  and 
she  would  then  rule  his  lodge  for  him  and  scold  elo- 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  85 

quently,  like  her  mother.  She  had,  therefore,  a  long 
list  of  matters  to  dream  about  as  she  lay  awake 
among  the  bushes  where  Wah-wah-o-be  and  several 
other  squaws  had  spread  their  blankets.  It  was  at 
some  distance  from  the  fires  which  the  "dog- 
soldiers"  kept  slowly  burning.  Not  far  away,  on  the 
left,  were  the  tall  pines  under  one  of  which  Ping  had 
curled  down,  while  outside  of  all  was  a  bare  ledge  of 
rock,  littered  with  bowlders  and  fragments. 

There  were  streaks  and  patches  of  shining  white 
quartz  here  and  there.  Tah-nu-nu  had  never  heard 
of  such  a  thing  as  beauty,  any  more  than  Ping,  but 
she  felt  its  power  as  he  did  not.  She  arose  and  stole 
softly  out  to  look  at  the  marvellous  picture  made  by 
that  ledge  in  the  moonlight.  She  looked  and  looked, 
but  she  had  no  Apache  word  for  what  she  saw.  It 
was  all  utterly  still  during  many  minutes,  and  then 
Tar-nu-nu  was  sure  she  saw  something  moving 
around  at  the  farther  border  of  the  ledge.  Her  first 
impulse  was  to  go  out  and  see  what  it  was,  but  her 
next  thought  was  of  her  bow  and  arrows  and  of  Ping. 

"Ugh !"  said  Ping,  as  she  shook  his  arm,  and  he 
sprang  to  his  feet. 

"Hist!"  she  said.    "Come!    Look!" 

He  strung  his  bow  and  fastened  his  quiver  of 
arrows  to  his  belt,  while  she  whispered  an  exclama 
tion.  Then  he  went  to  where  the  family  packs  had 
been  thrown  down  and  brought  back  a  weapon  at 
which  Tah-nu-nu  nodded  approval. 

Days  before  that  a  careless  pony  had  stepped 
upon  and  broken  one  of  the  best  lances  of  Kah-go- 
mish.  The  blade  was  as  keen  as  ever,  and  there 
were  six  feet  of  shaft  remaining,  below  the  cross- 


86  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

piece,  so  that  it  made  a  pretty  dangerous-looking 
pike,  although  it  was  no  longer  a  lance. 

Ping  followed  Tah-nu-nu,  and  not  a  word  was 
uttered  until  they  were  out  upon  the  ledge.  Some 
prowling  wolf  might  be  there,  attracted  by  the  odor 
of  cooked  meat  and  fish,  or  even  some  more  impor 
tant  animal,  for  bears  also  have  noses.  Ping  would 
not  have  given  a  useless  alarm  for  anything.  That 
would  have  brought  upon  him  sharper  ridicule  than 
had  the  scratch  on  his  ear.  He  had  no  idea  that  any 
human  enemy  could  be  near  that  lonely  camp,  and 
wild  animals,  he  knew,  were  sure  to  keep  at  a  dis 
tance  from  camp-fires.  That  was  true,  but  then 
Wah-wah-o-be  and  her  friends  were  not  camp-fires, 
and  were  not  near  to  any.  They  were  asleep  away 
out  on  that  side  of  the  camp,  and  it  was  so  safe  that 
it  had  no  sentry,  and  the  eyes  of  Tah-nu-nu  had  been 
of  so  much  the  greater  value. 

She  and  Ping  were  stealing  out  upon  the  broken 
ledge,  and  he  had  an  arrow  upon  the  string,  but  she 
had  not,  as  yet. 

"Ugh!"  he  said,  as  he  crouched  low  and  drew  his 
arrow  to  the  head. 

Tah-nu-nu  uttered  a  sharp  cry.  It  was  the  Apache 
word  for  "cougar!" 

Ping's  bowstring  twanged,  and  then  he  bounded 
to  the  right  as  if  he  were  dodging  something.  So  he 
was,  for  the  whole  camp  heard  the  snarling  roar  with 
which  a  great  "mountain  lion"  came  rushing  through 
the  air  and  crashed  down  a  bush  close  to  the  children 
of  Kah-go-mish  and  Wah-wah-o-be. 

Ping's  arrow  had  been  well  aimed,  for  it  was 
buried  in  the  breast  of  the  cougar.  Another  went 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  87 

into  his  side,  as  he  came  down,  and  that  was  from 
the  hand  of  a  girl-archer.  Tah-nu-nu  had  worked 
like  a  flash,  and  her  arrow  operated  as  a  sting,  for 
the  wounded  beast  made  yet  another  tremendous 
bound. 

All  the  squaws  were  on  their  feet,  and  Wah-wah- 
o-be  could  not  have  told  why  she  picked  up  her 
blanket  as  she  arose.  She  was  worthy  to  be  the  wife 
of  a  chief,  however,  for  when  the  cougar  alighted 
almost  in  front  of  her,  she  promptly  threw  the  blan 
ket  over  him.  Another  and  another  blanket  fol 
lowed,  while  he  rolled  upon  the  ground,  mad  with 
pain  and  rage,  tearing  the  unexpected  bedclothes 
and  snarling  ferociously. 

There  had  come  into  the  dull  mind  of  The-boy- 
whose-ear-pushed-away-a-piece-of-lead  a  great  mem 
ory  of  a  story  he  had  heard  of  a  warrior  who  faced 
a  cougar  single-handed.  With  it  came  another,  of  a 
chief  standing  alone  upon  a  rock  while  a  hundred 
enemies  fired  at  him. 

"I  am  the  son  of  Kahgo-mish!"  he  shouted,  ex- 
ultingly,  and  before  the  fierce  wild  beast  could  free 
himself,  there  was  Ping  in  front  of  him,  spear  in 
hand. 

Any  experienced  cougar-hunter  would  have  been 
inclined  to  say,  "Good-bye,  Ping,"  but  the  Apache 
boy  was  not  thinking  of  the  risk  he  was  running. 
He  knew  what  to  do,  and  he  put  all  the  strength  of 
his  tough  young  body  into  the  thrust  with  which  he 
sent  his  weapon,  low  down,  inside  the  animal's 
shoulder.  The  sharp  blade  went  in,  up  to  the  cross- 
piece,  just  as  the  bow  of  Tah-nu-nu  twanged  again, 
and  there  were  piercing  shrieks  on  all  sides.  The 


88  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

loudest  came  from  Wah-wah-o-be,  as  the  cougar 
made  a  convulsive  effort  to  reach  his  rash  assailant, 
for  over  and  over  went  Ping  in  spite  of  all  his 
bracing. 

He  would  have  fared  worse  if  the  butt  of  the 
spear-shaft  had  not  caught  a  better  brace  against  the 
ground,  so  that  the  cougar  did  not  fall  upon  him. 

The  blade  had  done  its  work.  There  were  two 
or  three  more  long  rips  made  in  Wah-wah-o-be's 
woollen  treasure  and  then  the  cougar  lay  still. 

Ping  was  beyond  all  ridicule  now,  for  he  had 
proved  himself  a  young  brave.  Wah-wah-o-be  was 
so  proud  of  him  that  she  had  not  a  word  of  grief 
to  utter  over  the  mess  of  woollen  ribbons  which  was 
all  that  remained  of  her  best  Reservation  blanket. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE  RETURN  OF  KAH-GO-MISH. 

'TpHERE  were  no  alarms  of  cougars  nor  of  any 
A     human  wild  people   around  the   Santa   Lucia 
ranch.    Even  the  dogs  could  hardly  get  up  an  excuse 
for  healthy  barking  after  dark. 

Just  in  the  dawn  of  that  next  morning,  however, 
the  cowboy  on  guard  at  the  stockade  gate  was  taken 
by  surprise.  Nobody  rode  up  to  the  wooden  barrier, 
but  his  quick  ears  caught  a  stealthy  footstep  behind 
him,  and  he  turned  sharply  around  with  his  hand  on 
the  lock  of  his  rifle. 

Did  she  mean  to  murder  him? 

There  she  stood,  Norah  McLory,  with  a  double- 
barrelled  gun  in  one  hand  and  a  cleaver  in  the  other, 
and  a  red  shawl  pinned  all  around  her.  She  made  a 
very  striking  picture,  and  the  look  on  her  face  was 
very  much  as  if  she  were  ready  to  strike. 

"What's  up,  Norah?"  exclaimed  the  cowboy. 

"Faith  an'  I'm  oop  mesilf,"  said  she.  "I  couldn't 
slape  for  thinking  of  thim  red  villains." 

"No  redskins  'round  here,"  almost  yawned  the 
weary  sentry. 

"Ye  don't  know  that,"  said  Norah,  "and  I 
wanted  to  see  was  you  watchin'.  We  moight  all  be 
murdhered  in  bed." 

89 


90  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

"The  dogs  'd  take  care  o'  that,"  said  he,  "and, 
oh,  but  I'm  hungry." 

"I'll  have  you  the  cup  of  hot  coffee  right  soon," 
said  Norah,  "and  you  needn't  tell  the  byes  I 
watched  ye." 

That  was  a  bargain,  but  before  the  coffee  boiled 
there  was  proof  of  other  wakefulness  besides 
Norah's.  Mrs.  Evans  and  Vic  were  out  to  look  at 
the  garden  and  to  feed  the  chickens  and  to  talk  about 
what  might  be  going  on  in  the  far-away  camp  which 
contained  the  red  mustang. 

After  breakfast  the  cowboys  went  to  their  duties. 
So  did  Norah  and  the  Mexican  servants.  Vic  and 
her  mother  took  a  brisk  horseback  ride,  and  came 
back  to  their  home. 

"Everything  is  too  quiet,  mother,"  said  Vic,  im 
patiently.  "There  isn't  anything  going  on !  I  want 
to  see  somebody !  I  want  to  see  something!  I  hate 
this  waiting." 

"I'm  afraid  it  will  be  days  and  days  before  we 
can  hear  from  your  father  or  Cal,"  said  Mrs.  Evans, 
"but  I  hope  it  will  be  good  news  when  it  comes." 

The  entire  garrison  of  Santa  Lucia,  ladies,  serv 
ants,  and  cowboys,  talked  of  the  men  on  the  trail 
of  Kah-go-mish,  and  wondered  where  and  under 
what  circumstances  their  camp  might  be  getting 
breakfast. 

Cal  Evans  himself,  although  he  awoke  in  the  camp 
they  were  talking  about,  did  not  clearly  know  where 
it  was,  and  while  he  was  grooming  the  red  mustang 
he  said  as  much  to  Sam  Herrick. 

"Colorado!"  remarked  Sam;  "you're  just  like 
everybody  else.  I  believe  those  Chiricahuas  have 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  91 

lost  the  trail,  or  else  they  don't  mean  we  shall  find 
the  Mescaleros." 

"What's  going  to  be  done?"  asked  Cal. 

"Your  father  and  Captain  Moore  mean  to  push 
right  on,"  said  Sam.  "They've  got  some  plan  or 
other.  Tell  you  what,  though,  if  I  was  an  Apache 
chief,  and  if  I'd  gobbled  a  drove  of  horses,  as  they 
did,  I'd  take  my  chances  over  in  Mexico.  I  wouldn't 
come  loafing  out  hereaway,  to  be  followed  by 
cavalry  and  caught  napping.  There's  a  plain  of 
awfully  dry  gravel  a  little  west  of  where  we  are 
now." 

Cal  finished  Dick,  and  then  he  carried  his  ques 
tions  to  his  father. 

"Sam's  right,"  said  the  colonel.  "He's  an  old 
hand  at  trailing.  We  believe  the  redskins  have 
crossed  the  line." 

"Into  Mexico?     Shall  we  miss  'em?" 

"No,  Cal,  I  think  not.  Captain  Moore  knows 
something  of  what  the  Mexicans  are  doing.  The 
Apaches  won't  be  comfortable  there.  What  we're 
guessing  at  is  the  place  where  they're  likely  to  come 
out  again.  We're  pretty  sure  we  know  about  where 
it's  got  to  be." 

He  might  have  been  less  positive  if  he  could  have 
seen  how  very  comfortable  the  band  of  Kah-go-mish 
looked  in  their  camp  among  the  Mexican  mountains 
at  that  very  hour. 

It  was  a  safe  place,  but  it  was  not  one  to  remain 
in  for  any  great  length  of  time,  for  the  horses  had 
already  eaten  up  nearly  all  the  grass.  Some  of  the 
braves  had  gone  out  after  game  successfully,  while 
others  had  brought  in  fish,  so  that  the  human  beings 


92  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

had  food  enough,  but  the  quadrupeds  would  soon 
wear  out  the  pasturage  of  so  small  a  valley. 

Ping's  cougar  was  regarded  as  capital  game,  the 
best  kind  of  meat  in  the  world  to  Indian  tastes,  as 
far  as  he  would  go. 

The  discovery  had  already  been  made  that  more 
plentiful  grass  could  not  safely  be  sought  for  under 
the  Mexican  flag.  Too  many  lancers  and  rancheros 
were  out  on  the  war-path,  and  the  thoughts  of  all 
the  band  were  turning  towards  some  better  refuge 
north  of  the  United  States  line.  Everybody  was 
contented  for  the  day,  however,  or  until  about  the 
middle  of  the  afternoon.  Even  Wah-wah-o-be  was 
astonished  then,  and  Ping  for  a  moment  forgot  his 
cougar.  The  little  valley  rang  with  a  great  whoop, 
which  came  from  its  southerly  end.  Every  brave 
within  hearing  did  his  best  to  answer  that  whoop, 
and  the  whole  camp  was  at  once  in  a  state  of  excite 
ment,  for  it  was  the  voice  of  the  returning  Kah-go- 
mish,  and  it  was  thrilling  with  triumph. 

Here  he  came,  not  astride  of  the  doleful  pony 
that  had  carried  him  away,  but  riding  an  elegantly 
caparisoned  steed.  Some  other  horses  followed 
him.  He  had  gone  out  almost  weaponless,  and  he 
was  now  overloaded  with  weapons.  He  had  gone 
bareheaded,  and  now  he  wore  a  gorgeously  gold- 
laced  and  yellow-plumed  cocked  hat,  recently  the 
special  pride  of  a  major  of  Mexican  militia.  Even 
the  Reservation  chimney-pot  silk  beauty,  green  veil 
and  all,  was  altogether  nothing  compared  with 
this. 

Kah-go-mish  had  not  exactly  played  Cortes,  and 
conquered  Mexico,  but  what  he  had  done  was  very 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  93 

nearly  the  same  to  Wah-wah-o-be,  Tah-nu-nu,  and 
The-boy-whose-ear-pushed-away-a-piece-of-lead. 

It  was  a  great  time,  but  the  chief  had  the  plans 
of  a  general  in  his  head.  No  Mexican  force  would 
follow  him  into  the  Sierra,  but  one  might  try  to 
head  him  off  on  the  other  side,  and  take  away  his 
horses,  and  it  was  time  to  be  moving. 

The  band  broke  camp  at  once,  to  push  on  through 
the  rugged  mountain-paths  as  long  as  there  might 
be  daylight  enough  to  go  by.  That  was  why  the 
darkness,  when  it  came,  found  them  scattered  all 
along  the  bottom  of  a  tremendous  gorge,  walled  in 
by  vast  perpendicular  faces  of  quartz  and  granite 
rock.  Even  Ping  thought  it  wonderful,  when  the 
straggling  camp-fires  were  kindled,  that  their  light 
did  not  stream  half-way  up  those  walls,  and  left  the 
rest  in  shadow  until  the  moon  rose  high  enough  to 
show  them. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE   FOUNTAIN  IN  THE  DESERT. 

ON  the  morning  of  the  second  day  after  Ping  and 
Tah-nu-nu  and  the  blankets  proved  to  be  too 
much  "bad  medicine"  for  one  poor  cougar,  the  sun 
arose  hotly  over  one  of  the  dreariest  bits  of  scenery 
in  southern  New  Mexico.  It  was  the  gravel  desert 
described  to  Cal  Evans  by  Sam  Herrick.  No  moun 
tains  were  visible  on  the  south  or  east,  and  the 
ranges  of  tall  peaks  westerly  and  northerly  were  a 
very  long  day's  journey  from  the  most  interesting 
spot  in  that  entire  plain.  Everywhere  else  even  the 
cactus-plants  and  scrubby  mesquit-trees  and  stiff- 
fingered  sage-brushes  were  scarce,  as  if  they  did  not 
care  to  struggle  for  a  living  in  so  mean  a  country. 
Here,  on  the  contrary,  there  was  a  dense  chaparral 
of  every  kind  of  growth,  excepting  tall  trees,  that  is 
common  to  that  climate,  and  spreading  for  miles 
and  miles.  In  many  places  the  chaparral  was  so  high 
and  so  thick  that  a  man  on  horseback  could  have 
been  hidden  in  it  from  another  man  at  a  short 
distance. 

If  any  man  had  ridden  into  it,  however,  perhaps 
his  first  declaration  might  have  been,  "All  this  thorn 
and  famine  shrubbery  was  laid  out  by  a  lot  of  crazy 
spiders." 

94 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  95 

Innumerable  paths  led  through  it,  crossing  or 
running  into  each  other  in  a  manner  to  have  per 
plexed  a  carpet-weaver  or  a  military  map-maker,  and 
everybody  knows  what  tangled  patterns  they  can 
make.  The  spiders  had  not  done  it,  but  the  larger 
kinds  of  four-footed  wild  animals.  They  had  worked 
at  those  paths  for  ages,  treading  them  down  all  the 
while,  and  preventing  any  vegetable  growth  from 
choking  them  up. 

There  was  really  no  tangle,  at  least  none  that 
could  perplex  the  clear  mind  of  a  bison  or  an  ante 
lope,  and  all  the  threads  of  that  spider-web  had 
more  or  less  reference  to  a  common  centre  towards 
which  the  main  lines  tended. 

The  dry  and  thirsty  bushes  on  the  outer  circumfer 
ence  of  the  chaparral  should  not  have  settled  where 
they  did.  They  ought  rather  to  have  learned  a  les 
son  from  the  bisons,  and  have  gone  in  farther.  The 
wide  main  pathways  ran  into  each  other,  and  all  the 
smaller  pathways  melted  into  them,  until  only  twenty 
or  thirty  ends  of  paths  led  into  a  great  open  space, 
in  the  middle  of  which  was  the  one  thing  needed  by 
all  that  vast  plain,  with  its  dreary  gravel  and  sand 
and  alkali. 

Water? 

Yes,  water  as  clear  as  crystal,  and  that  seemed  to 
be  colder  than  ice. 

The  thirsty  animals  who  were  from  year  to  year 
to  traverse  that  plain  had  been  provided  for  as  if 
they  had  been  so  many  sparrows,  and  the  cactus- 
plants  as  if  they  had  been  lilies  of  the  field. 

The  greater  part  of  the  open  space  was  occupied 
by  a  seamed  and  broken  face  of  quartz  rock,  no- 


96  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

where  rising  more  than  a  few  feet  above  the  general 
level.  Scores  and  scores  of  miles  away,  among  the 
unknown  recesses  of  the  Sierra,  westward,  was  a 
lake,  a  reservoir,  into  which  the  everlasting  snows 
continually  melted.  At  some  point  of  that  reservoir 
a  channel  had  been  opened  through  and  under  the 
cloven  strata  of  the  rock,  making  a  natural  aqueduct. 
Cold  and  clear  ran  the  snow-water,  never  failing  in 
its  wonderfiul  supply,  until  it  burst  up  into  the  burn 
ing  sunshine  in  the  very  middle  of  the  desert,  of  the 
chaparral,  and  of  the  spider-web  of  paths.  It  danced 
and  gurgled,  this  morning,  right  under  the  timid 
noses  of  a  gang  of  antelopes  who  had  trotted  in 
there  by  the  shortest  lane,  not  missing  their  way  for 
a  yard. 

A  motherly  old  sage-hen  watched  them  from  un 
der  a  bush  upon  one  side  of  the  open,  while  in  the 
opposite  scrubs  a  large  jackass  rabbit  sat,  with  lifted 
fore-feet  and  with  ears  thrust  forward,  his  face 
wearing  such  a  look  of  surprised  disapproval  as  only 
a  rabbit  can  put  on. 

One  antelope  held  his  head  up  and  listened  while 
the  rest  were  drinking.  He  turned  his  head  and 
looked  around  him,  and  in  every  direction  he  could 
see  an  extraordinary  collection  of  white  or  whiten 
ing  bones,  large  and  small.  Perhaps,  year  after 
year,  many  over-thirsty  animals  had  rushed  hastily 
in  and  drank  too  much  of  that  snow-water.  At  all 
events,  they  had  ended  their  days  there.  The  ante 
lope,  or  anybody  else,  could  also  have  said  to  him 
self,  "Tomato-cans?  Empty  sardine-boxes?  Bot 
tles?  Old  wheels?  I  wonder  how  many  and  what 
kind  of  white  men  or  Indians  have  camped  around 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  97 

Fonda  des  Arenas?"  If  he  had  been  an  American 
antelope,  however,  he  would  have  said  Cold  Spring, 
and  not  Fountain  of  the  Sands. 

^The  antelopes  were  divided  as  to  their  nation 
ality,  and  changed  their  citizenship  several  times, 
for,  right  through  the  middle  of  the  spring  and  along 
the  little  rill  by  which  it  ran  across  the  rock  lay  the 
boundary  line  between  the  United  States  and 
Mexico.  Some  curious  chisel-marks  in  one  place  had 
meanings  with  reference  to  the  boundary,  and  so  it 
must  have  been  there ;  but  even  the  keen  eyes  of  two 
buzzard  eagles,  soaring  overhead,  could  not  have 
seen  the  line  itself. 

Suddenly  the  antelope  chief  gave  a  bleat  and  a 
bound,  and  in  a  twinkling  he  and  his  little  band  dis 
appeared  in  the  southern  chaparral.  Every  one  of 
them  had  fled  into  Mexico. 

Only  ears  as  sensitive  as  their  own  could  have 
heard  any  warning  in  what  seemed  the  almost  painful 
silence  of  that  solitude,  but  they  were  right  in  run 
ning  away.  Not  many  minutes  elapsed  before  sev 
eral  of  the  paths  opening  towards  the  spring  were 
occupied  by  stealthy  human  forms  on  foot,  peering 
around  as  if  to  make  sure  that  no  other  human  be 
ings  had  arrived  before  them.  They  answered  one 
another  with  low  calls  which  sounded  like  suppressed 
barks  of  a  prairie-wolf,  and  these  were  repeated  in 
the  chaparral  behind  them. 

Then  a  tall,  broad,  dignified  man,  in  a  red  flannel 
waist-cloth  and  a  gorgeous  cocked  hat,  and  with  red 
stocking-legs  on  his  arms,  strode  out  towards  the 
bubbling  fountain  with  the  air  of  a  ruler  taking 
possession. 


98  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

"Kah-go-mish  is  a  great  chief!"  he  remarked,  em 
phatically.  "Cheat  pale-face  a  heap.  Ugh!" 

If  other  remarks  made  by  himself  and  by  a  dusky 
throng,  now  pouring  out  of  the  chaparral,  could 
have  been  interpreted,  it  would  have  been  under 
stood  that  a  plan  of  Kah-go-mish  for  escaping  from 
some  pursuit  or  other  had  thus  far  worked  well,  but 
that  the  danger  was  by  no  means  at  an  end. 

Wah-wah-o-be  was  one  of  those  who  shook  their 
heads  about  it  very  wisely.  She  said  very  little,  and 
neither  Ping  nor  Tah-nu-nu  was  with  her.  If  she 
knew  where  they  were  she  did  not  even  mention  that 
fact. 

There  was  plenty  of  room  for  the  whole  band  of 
Kah-go-mish,  horses  and  all.  They  had  travelled 
since  the  dawn  of  day,  or  before,  and  although  it 
was  still  quite  early  they  were  hungry  and  thirsty. 

There  was  the  spring  for  thirst,  and  fires  were 
kindled.  These  were  as  quickly  put  out,  after  break 
fast  had  been  cooked  and  eaten,  and  when  the  sun 
had  dried  the  waters  thrown  upon  the  embers  no 
newcomer  could  have  guessed  how  long  it  might  be 
since  the  last  coal  died. 

"Leave  heap  sign,"  said  Kah-go-mish.  "Pale 
face  know  great  chief  been  here.  Not  know  where 
gone.  Ugh!" 

Sign  enough  was  made,  for  now  the  band  moved 
away  westerly  by  a  path  of  the  chaparral.  Broad 
and  plain  was  the  trail  left  behind  and  it  was  all  on 
Mexican  sand.  It  went  right  along  until  it  reached 
and  crossed  another  wide  path  at  right  angles. 
Here  most  of  the  band  turned  to  the  left,  under 
orders,  but  the  rest,  a  lot  of  warriors,  went  on,  mak- 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  99 

ing  false  trail  as  if  for  a  purpose,  half  a  mile  far 
ther,  to  a  wide,  empty  patch  of  hard  gravel.  No 
two  of  the  warriors  left  that  patch  together,  and  the 
trail  died  there.  Of  the  band  which  turned  to  the 
left,  at  the  crossing,  the  squaw  part  pushed  on  while 
some  cunning  old  braves  worked  like  beavers  to 
scratch  out  every  trace  that  they  or  theirs  had  en 
tered  that  left-hand  path  at  all. 

It  was  all  a  very  artistic  piece  of  Indian  dodging, 
and  when  it  was  completed  the  entire  band  of  Kah- 
go-mish  was  encamped  in  a  secluded  nook  of  the 
chaparral  about  a  mile  and  a  half  from  the  spring. 
So  far  as  any  tracks  they  had  made  were  concerned, 
they  would  have  been  about  as  hard  to  find  as  the 
sage-hen,  who  had  now  returned  to  her  place  under 
the  bush  by  the  spring,  and  had  distinguished  com 
pany  to  help  her  watch  it. 

A  sage-hen  crouching  low  in  sand  and  shadowed 
by  wait-a-bit  thorn  twigs  is  pretty  well  hidden.  So 
is  a  great  Apache  chief  when  he  has  left  his  cocked 
hat  and  his  horse  a  mile  and  a  half  away  and  is  lying 
at  full  length,  in  a  rabbit  path,  a  few  yards  behind 
the  sage-hen. 

Kah-go-mish  had  his  own  military  reasons  for 
hurrying  back  to  play  spy,  and  his  face  wore  an 
expression  of  mingled  cunning,  patience,  and  self- 
satisfaction.  Something  like  a  crisis  had  evidently 
arrived  in  his  affairs,  and  he  was  meeting  it  as  be 
came  a  Mescalero-Apache  statesman  of  genius.  He 
and  the  sage-hen  lay  still  for  a  while,  but  it  was  not 
long  before  there  was  another  arrival  at  the  spring. 

No  sound  escaped  the  lips  of  Kah-go-mish,  but 
the  expression  of  his  face  changed  suddenly. 


ioo  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

Perhaps  the  new  arrival  had  been  long  in  con 
vincing  himself  that  he  could  safely  venture  to  the 
spring,  but  he  now  left  his  pony  at  the  edge  of  the 
quartz  level  and  walked  on  to  the  water's  edge.  He 
was  not  a  white  man.  He  was  one  of  the  Indians 
who  had  said  "How"  to  Vic  and  Mrs.  Evans,  and 
the  sight  of  him  seemed  to  arouse  all  the  wolf  in 
Kah-go-mish.  The  eyes  of  the  Mescalero  leader 
glistened  like  those  of  a  serpent  as  he  thrust  his  rifle 
forward.  There  was  a  sharp  report  and  Kah-go- 
mish  bounded  from  his  cover,  knife  in  hand,  for  the 
Chiricahua  scout  lay  lifeless  upon  the  rock. 

"To-da-te-ca-to-da  no  more  be  heap  eyes  for  blue 
coat,"  said  the  ferociously  wrathful  chieftain,  and  a 
moment  later,  as  he  again  disappeared  in  the  chap 
arral,  he  added,  bitterly:  "Heap  sign  now.  Ugh. 
Pale-face  find  him.  Bad  Indian!  Ugh!" 


CHAPTER  XV. 

LOST  IN  THE   CHAPARRAL. 

KAH-GO-MISH  and  all  the  other  members  of  his 
band  except  two  had  been  entirely  absorbed  in 
the  marching  and  counter-marching  required  to  make 
other  people  lose  track  of  them.  Meantime  the  two 
exceptions  had  been  threading  the  blind  paths  of  the 
chaparral  more  rapidly  and  a  great  deal  more 
anxiously. 

Neither  of  the  ponies  which  carried  Ping  and 
Tah-nu-nu  was  hampered  by  any  saddle,  and  both 
were  somewhat  wild,  but  they  were  not  wild  enough 
to  have  an  antelope's  learning  as  to  the  streets  and 
lanes  of  that  bushy  wilderness.  Their  young  riders 
were  just  as  ignorant.  After  the  fight  with  the 
cougar,  Ping  remembered  that  when  Tah-nu-nu  sent 
her  last  arrow  into  the  side  of  the  great  cat  she  had 
seemed  to  him  to  be  about  twice  her  ordinary  size. 
Her  bow  had  twanged  at  the  moment  when  he  had 
himself  felt  like  a  very  small  boy  indeed,  about  to 
be  stepped  upon  by  the  worst  claws  in  the  world. 
She,  at  that  moment,  had  thought  of  her  brother  as  a 
young  warrior  and  a  hero.  Now,  however,  they 
were  even,  for  they  both  had  lost  their  way;  and  she 
spoke  of  him  as  a  mere  boy,  while  he  described  her 
as  a  little  squaw,  from  whom,  of  course,  any  great 
amount  of  wisdom  was  hardly  to  be  expected. 

101 


102  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

Whether  they  rode  fast  or  slow,  up  one  path  or 
down  another,  seemed  to  make  little  difference. 
They  were  in  a  complete  puzzle,  and  there  were  a 
number  of  square  miles  of  it. 

At  last  an  avenue  of  more  than  ordinary  width 
seemed  to  offer  a  promise  that  it  might  lead  some 
where  in  particular,  instead  of  everywhere  in  gen 
eral,  and  Ping  remarked:  "Ugh!  Heap  trail,"  as 
he  rode  into  it. 

"Buffalo  trail,"  added  Tah-nu-nu,  satirically,  and 
she  was  right,  but  it  was  the  best  highway  they  had 
yet  discovered. 

On  they  rode,  for  a  while,  making  fewer  turns  and 
windings,  until  they  came  to  a  problem  which  halted 
them.  The  wide  path  split  into  two  that  were 
equally  wide,  and  made  a  good  place  for  a  lost 
Apache  boy  and  girl  to  argue  a  knotty  question. 
Tah-nu-nu  favored  the  right-hand  road  while  Ping 
preferred  the  left,  and  neither  of  them  could  give  a 
good  reason  for  any  choice. 

After  Ping  killed  the  cougar,  the  heart  of  it  had 
been  given  him  for  breakfast  and  the  tongue  for 
dinner,  but,  whatever  else  he  had  gained  by  eating 
them,  he  had  not  acquired  that  animal's  natural-born 
bush  wisdom.  He  may  at  some  time  have  eaten  an 
antelope's  ear,  however,  for  he  now  put  up  his  hand 
as  if  another  bullet  had  whizzed  past  him. 

"Ugh  1"  he  exclaimed.  "Hear pony!  Tah-nu-nu, 
come !" 

They  wheeled  their  own  ponies  behind  the  near 
est  thick  bushes  and  dismounted.  The  new-comer 
might  be  a  friend,  but  he  was  just  as  likely  to  be  an 
enemy.  Ping  got  an  arrow  ready,  and  felt  very  much 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  103 

like  a  young  cougar  waiting  for  an  opportunity  to 
spring. 

They  had  only  a  minute  to  wait,  and  then  another 
exceedingly  puzzled  young  person  drew  his  rein  at 
the  point  where  the  wide  path  divided.  Ping's  eyes 
opened  wide  and  they  glittered  enviously.  Never  be 
fore  had  he  seen  so  dashing-looking  a  young  pale 
face,  nor  any  kind  of  boy  mounted  upon  such  a 
beauty  of  a  horse.  Oh,  how  the  son  of  Kah-go-mish 
did  long  to  become  the  owner  of  that  red  mus 
tang. 

"Dick,"  said  the  boy  in  the  saddle,  very  much  as 
if  he  had  been  talking  to  another  human  being,  "did 
you  know  that  you  and  I  had  lost  our  way  ?  How  do 
you  suppose  we  shall  ever  get  out  of  this  scrape? 
It's  a  bad  one." 

Dick  neighed  discontentetly,  and  pawed  the  sand, 
for  he  was  thirsty,  but  he  made  no  other  answer. 
He  was  as  ignorant  as  was  his  master  concerning 
those  roads  and  of  what  was  at  that  moment  taking 
place  among  the  bushes. 

The  Mescalero  branch  of  the  great  Apache  na 
tion,  while  at  war  with  Mexico,  was  at  peace  with 
the  United  States,  although  it  was  by  means  of  a 
treaty  which  had  been  badly  cracked,  if  not  broken, 
upon  both  sides.  As  for  The-boy-whose-ear-pushed- 
away-a-piece-of-lead,  however,  he  felt  in  all  his  veins 
that  he  was  at  war  with  the  entire  white  race,  and 
that  he  wanted  that  red^  mustang. 

His  arrow  was  on  the  string,  and  he  was  lifting 
his  bow,  when  Tah-nu-nu  caught  him  firmly  by  the 
arm. 

"Ugh !"   she  whispered.     "Kah-go-mish  say  no 


io4  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

kill.     No  fight  bluecoat.     No  take  'calp.     Ping  no 
shoot." 

The  too  eager  young  warrior  struggled  a  little, 
but  Tah-nu-nu  was  determined.  Then  he  seemed  to 
assent,  and  she  let  go  of  his  arm  while  they  both 
listened  to  something  more  that  the  white  boy  said. 
They  could  not  quite  understand  the  words,  but  they 
could  read  the  decision  he  came  to. 

"Dick,"  he  remarked,  "here  goes.  We'll  take  to 
the  right,  if  it  leads  us  to  China." 

With  the  guiding  motion  of  his  hand  the  red 
mustang  sprang  forward.  Just  as  he  did  so,  a 
fiercely  driven  arrow  whizzed  by  the  head  of  his 
master.  It  only  missed  its  mark  by  a  few  inches, 
and  they  had  been  gained  for  Cal  by  the  quick  hand 
of  Tah-nu-nu. 

"Indians!"  was  the  exclamation  that  sprang  to 
Cal's  lips.  "An  ambush." 

He  rode  on  rapidly  a  little  distance,  and  then  he 
pulled  in  his  pony,  adding:  "Things  are  getting 
pretty  bad  for  us,  Dick." 

"Ugh!"  Ping  had  said,  as  Cal  disappeared. 
"Tah-nu-nu  make  him  lose  arrow.  Lose  pony. 
Heap  squaw!" 

"Kah-go-mish  say,  good!"  she  sharply  responded. 
"Heap  mad  for  kill." 

She  had  saved  the  life  of  the  young  pale-face 
stranger,  and  she  felt  sure  of  her  father's  approval. 
She  had  heard  him  give  his  warriors  rigid  orders 
against  unnecessary  bloodshed.  He  had  specified 
bluecoats  and  cowboys  with  thoughtful  care  for  the 
future  of  his  band,  if  not  for  the  treaty,  but  he  had 
said  nothing  at  all  about  Chiricahua  scouts. 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  105 

Ping  was  compelled  to  yield  the  point,  but  it  was 
plain  to  both  of  them  that  if  there  were  more  pale 
faces  to  the  right,  for  that  one  to  follow  after,  their 
own  course  must  be  to  the  left.  Down  that  path 
they  rode,  accordingly,  and  they  were  going  right 
and  wrong  at  the  same  time. 

Cal  Evans,  on  the  other  hand,  was  going  alto 
gether  in  the  wrong  path,  and  was  doing  it  pretty 
rapidly.  It  occurred  to  him  that  buffaloes  marching 
two  abreast  must  have  laid  out  that  bush-bordered 
lane,  but  then  other  lanes  as  wide  ran  into  it  or 
crossed  it.  He  at  last  brought  Dick  down  to  an  easy 
canter  and  tried  to  study  the  situation  carefully.  He 
had  heard  of  experienced  plainsmen  who  had  lost 
themselves  in  chaparral.  They  had  wandered 
around  aimlessly,  for  days  and  days,  crossing  their 
own  trails  again  and  again.  At  last  they  had  lost 
hope  and  had  lain  down  and  died  of  hunger  and 
thirst  at  only  short  distances  from  friends  who  were 
hunting  for  them. 

Cal's  heart  beat  hard  as  he  recalled  those  terrible 
stories.  The  sun  seemed  to  be  growing  hotter  over 
head.  The  wind  had  almost  died  out,  and  the  air 
was  like  that  of  a  furnace.  He  was  painfully  thirsty, 
and  he  knew  that  Dick  had  had  no  water  since  day 
light,  and  then  not  a  full  supply,  for  the  expedition 
had  been  in  the  desert  since  the  previous  afternoon. 
They  had  all  travelled  rapidly,  too,  in  the  hope  of 
reaching  Cold  Spring  early. 

"What  will  father  say,"  thought  Cal,  "when  he 
finds  out  that  I'm  missing?  What  would  mother  and 
Vic  say,  if  they  knew?  I  only  rode  ahead  a  little, 
way,  and  I  can't  guess  how  I  came  to  lose  track  of 
them  all." 


106  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

No  man  who  gets  lost  can  ever  tell  exactly  how  he 
managed  to  do  it. 

Very  mocking  were  the  curves  of  that  seeming 
road  to  nowhere,  and  many  were  the  narrower  lanes 
that  entered  it  as  if  they  also  wanted  to  go  there. 
Cal  could  hardly  have  guessed  how  many  sultry  miles 
he  travelled  before  he  came  suddenly  upon  a  wider, 
sandier  path,  bordered  by  taller  bushes,  that  struck 
straight  across  the  other. 

"It's  time  for  us  to  try  something  new,  Dick,"  he 
said,  but  he  said  it  dolefully,  as  he  turned  to  the  left 
and  pushed  down  the  unknown  avenue.  It  had  its 
curves,  like  the  other,  and  it  was  wider  here  and 
narrower  there,  and  it  led  him  on  for  a  full  hour. 
He  had  long  since  almost  forgotten  about  the  whiz 
zing  arrow,  in  his  deep  anxiety,  and  he  knew  that 
there  could  not  be  ambushes  everywhere. 

At  the  end  of  the  long  hour  he  and  Dick  stood 
stockstill.  They  were  on  a  slight  elevation  from 
which  a  considerable  sweep  of  the  chaparral  could 
be  overlooked.  It  was  a  dreary,  dreary  prospect, 
and  it  seemed  to  be  interminable.  Cal  stared  wist 
fully  in  all  directions,  but  north  and  south  and  east 
and  west  appeared  to  be  alike  without  hope.  Into 
that  lonely  path  no  other  human  being  was  likely  to 
come.  Dick  and  Cal  were  like  flies,  caught  in  the 
vast  web.  In  spite  of  the  glowing  sunshine,  all  things 
seemed  to  be  growing  very  dark  indeed,  and  they 
even  grew  darker  when  his  feverish  imagination 
wandered  away  to  Santa  Lucia. 

"It's  a  fact,  Dick,"  he  said,  huskily,  "you  and  I 
are  lost." 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

AN  INVASION  OF  TWO   REPUBLICS. 

T/~AH-GO-MISH  was  a  great  chief,  and  had  em- 
•••*•  ployed  all  the  cunning  in  him  in  his  arrange 
ments  for  eluding  his  pursuers.  It  now  remained  to 
be  seen  whether  or  not  he  had  made  blunders. 

The  Chiricahua  scout  lay  on  the  white  quartz  only 
a  few  yards  from  the  water's  edge.  The  sage-hen 
sat  under  the  bush.  The  Apache  leader  lay  once 
more  in  his  rabbit-path  behind  her,  having  regained 
it  by  a  long  circuit  through  the  chaparral. 

The  two  buzzards  overhead  were  floating  some 
what  lower,  and  they  could  see  all  over  the  tangled 
maze  of  scrubby  growth  and  buffalo-paths. 

From  the  southward  came  a  soft,  warm  wind, 
carrying  with  it  sounds  which  brought  a  quick,  vin 
dictive  gleam  into  the  eyes  of  Kah-go-mish.  First 
came  the  faint,  distant  music  of  a  bugle,  as  if  to 
inform  both  friends  and  enemies  that  a  cavalry 
column  was  picking  its  way  through  the  spider-web. 
A  little  later  shouts  could  be  heard,  and  then  the 
rattle  of  sabres  and  the  neighing  of  horses.  Nearer 
and  nearer  drew  the  assurance  that  quite  a  lot  of 
fellows  of  some  sort  were  at  hand,  and  all  the  while 
the  buzzards  overhead,  and  they  only,  were  aware 
that  a  very  different-looking  set  were  approaching 
from  another  direction. 

107 


io8  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

This  second  party  was  also  armed  and  mounted, 
but  it  plodded  on  in  silence  and  not  rapidly.  They 
seemed  disposed  to  feel  their  way  with  some  care, 
although  not  at  all  in  doubt  as  to  the  path  they  were 
following.  Part  of  these  silent  horsemen  were  all 
the  way  from  Fort  Craig,  hunting  some  Mescaleros 
who  had  left  their  Reservation,  and  the  rest  of  them 
were  from  Santa  Lucia  ranch  and  its  neighborhood, 
and  had  come  for  some  stolen  horses.  Just  now 
many  of  them  seemed  disposed  to  discuss  the  mili 
tary  tactics  of  Mexican  commanders. 

"All  the  Indians  in  the  chaparral  have  had  good 
bugle-warning,  Sam,"  said  Colonel  Evans  to  the 
cowboy  nearest. 

"Colorado!"  said  Sam.  "Reckon  they  have.  But 
then  no  redskins  nor  anybody  else  'd  stop  here  long. 
We  know  one  thing,  though." 

"What's  that,  Sam?" 

"Well,  if  our  redskins  are  here  away,  they've  been 
raced  out  of  Mexico.  We'll  get  'em  on  American 
sile." 

That  appeared  to  be  the  opinion  of  Captain 
Moore,  but  the  entire  party  had  a  hot,  thirsty,  jaded 
look,  as  of  men  and  horses  who  had  made  a  long 
push  across  a  desert  and  wanted  rest  and  water. 

"We'll  try  and  reach  the  spring  first,"  said  the 
captain,  "and  claim  our  first  choice  of  a  camping- 
ground." 

That  was  why  neither  of  the  two  bodies  of  cavalry 
got  there  first,  and  why  Kah-go-mish  and  the  sage- 
hen  heard,  pretty  soon,  an  American  cavalry  bugle 
from  the  east  answering  the  Mexican  music  from  the 
south. 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  109 

Then  the  buzzards  overhead  saw  men  in  uniform 
and  other  men  in  no  uniform  ride  out  of  the  chap 
arral,  from  opposite  sides,  into  the  great  rocky 
open  around  the  spring. 

Just  before  that  Kah-go-mish  had  seen  three  Chiri- 
cahuas  steal  out  from  the  cover.  They  had  scouted 
all  around  it,  and  one  of  them  had  passed  very  near 
the  lurking  Mescalero.  He  had  been  in  no  danger, 
for  Kah-go-mish  had  heard  the  bugles  and  knew 
that  he  must  lie  still.  All  three  were  now  grouped 
around  their  lost  comrade  on  the  rock. 

"Ugh !"  they  said,  as  they  looked  at  him.  "Kah- 
go-mish." 

Captain  Moore  had  been  informed  of  the  name 
of  the  chief  whose  band  had  wandered  from  the 
Reservation,  and  now  the  Chiricahuas  were  in  no 
doubt  as  to  whose  work  lay  before  them.  It  was 
part  of  an  old  personal  feud,  they  said,  and  had 
nothing  to  do  with  pale-faces  or  stolen  horses. 

Straight  to  the  margin  of  the  spring  rode  Captain 
Moore  and  the  Mexican  commander,  each  followed 
by  several  other  riders,  while  behind  them  their  men 
filed  out  of  the  chaparral. 

The  meeting  of  the  two  officers  was  ceremoniously 
polite,  and  was  followed  by  rapid  explanations  that 
left  them  in  little  doubt  but  that  they  were  pursuing 
the  same  enemy. 

"Senor,"  said  Captain  Moore,  with  a  smile,  at 
last,  as  he  looked  around,  "your  forces  have  invaded 
the  territory  of  the  United  States." 

"Sefior  Capitan,"  smiled  the  Mexican,  with  a  low 
bow,  "part  of  the  troops  under  your  command  have 
broken  the  treaty  and  are  now  in  Mexico." 


no  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

"I  propose,  then,  Colonel  Romero,"  said  the  cap 
tain,  "that  we  compromise  the  matter.  My  com 
mand  is  almost  thirsty  enough  to  drink  up  the 
American  half  of  this  spring.  How  are  your  own?" 

"Dry  as  the  sand,"  would  have  been  a  fair  inter 
pretation  of  the  polite  Mexican's  reply,  and  orders 
were  given  on  both  sides  which  provided  for  the 
thirsty  men  and  animals  without  delay. 

There  were  pleasant-voiced  introductions  among 
the  gentlemen,  and  the  blue-coats  and  cowboys  min 
gled  freely  with  the  lancers  and  rancheros.  If 
Kah-go-mish  did  not  know  it  before,  he  now  learned 
that  these  Mexicans,  of  whom  there  were  nearly  two 
hundred,  were  not  the  same  force  that  he  had  col 
lected  his  target-fee  from. 

A  sort  of  mutual  council  of  war  of  all  the  officers 
and  Colonel  Evans  was  held  over  the  body  of  the 
dead  Chiricahua  scout. 

"It  may  indicate  the  presence  of  only  one  war 
rior,"  said  Captain  Moore,  "or  it  may  mean  that  the 
whole  band  is  near — " 

At  that  moment  a  loud  whoop  sounded  from  the 
chaparral,  westerly.  It  was  followed  by  the  hasty 
return  of  one  of  the  Chiricahuas  to  announce  tha.t 
he  had  found  the  trail  of  the  Apaches  and  that  it 
led  towards  the  south,  into  Mexico. 

"You  can  follow  them,  then,  and  I  cannot,"  said 
Captain  Moore  to  Colonel  Romero.  "I  should  like 
to  consult  with  Colonel  Evans  as  to  my  own  course." 

He  looked  around  as  if  searching  for  the  owner 
of  Santa  Lucia,  who  had  been  at  his  elbow,  but  had 
suddenly  seemed  to  vanish. 

"Si,   Senor  Capitan,"   replied   Colonel    Romero. 


'UGH  !"  THEY  SAID,  AS  THEY  LOOKED  AT   HIM.      "KAH-GO-MISIl' 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  in 

"We  will  follow  the  trail  at  once,  and  I  am  glad  that 
all  the  glory  is  to  be  ours.  We  shall,  at  all  events, 
be  in  a  good  camping-ground  by  sunset." 

"Your  whole  command  is  with  you?"  asked  the 
captain. 

"Except  a  pack-train  and  spare  horses,"  replied 
Colonel  Romero.  "We  pushed  ahead  a  little,  and 
they  took  it  easily.  They  are  only  a  few  miles  be 
hind  and  will  soon  catch  up  with  us." 

He  said  more,  and  he  had  a  good  voice.  He  ac 
companied  his  very  distinct  utterances  with  gestures, 
not  dreaming  that  the  sage-hen  or  any  other  im 
proper  listener  was  near  enough  to  learn  too  much. 

Even  in  his  rabbit-patch,  however,  Kah-go-mish 
could  not  entirely  restrain  his  thoughts. 

"Ugh!"  he  muttered.  "Heap  pony.  Heap 
mule." 

Horses  and  men  had  quenched  their  thirst  and 
both  sides  were  eating  luncheon.  The  two  com 
manders  separated,  and  Captain  Moore  turned 
away.  As  he  did  so  a  large  man  stood  before  him 
with  flushed,  excited  face. 

"Captain  Moore,  Cal  is  lost !  Lost  in  the  chap 
arral!" 

That  was  why  he  had  stepped  away  so  suddenly, 
for  Sam  Herrick  had  first  beckoned  to  him,  and  then 
had  led  him  aside  to  say  that  Cal  had  not  come  in 
with  the  rest.  He  had  hunted  for  him  all  around, 
but  not  one  of  the  men  had  seen  him  for  an  hour  and 
a  half.  The  colonel  himself  had  at  once  made  rapid 
,  luiries,  and  now  he  had  brought  the  news  to  Cap 
tain  Moore,  in  such  a  state  of  mind  that  he  could  not 
think. 


ii2  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

"Call"  exclaimed  the  captain.  "Lost!  Oh,  no. 
Don't  be  so  agitated.  You  can  find  him." 

The  colonel  tried  to  speak,  but  his  voice  refused 
to  do  its  duty. 

"Herrick,  Sam,"  said  the  captain,  quietly,  "those 
Greasers  have  more  bugles  than  they  need.  Buy  a 
couple.  I'll  lend  you  mine.  Stop.  I'll  speak  to 
Colonel  Romero  about  it." 

"Bugles?"  said  Colonel  Evans. 

"Why,  yes,"  said  the  captain,  "if  Cal  is  tangled 
in  the  chaparral  he  must  have  something  to  guide 
him.  I  must  push  on,  along  the  boundary  line,  to  see 
what  luck  I  can  have  with  the  Mescaleros.  Colonel 
Romero  and  his  men  will  follow  their  direct  trail, 
and  so  they  won't  find  them;  but  we  both  make  it 
safer  for  you.  Patrol  back,  blowing  all  sorts  of 
noise,  and  Cal's  pretty  sure  to  ride  right  up  to  one 
bugle  or  another.  Scatter  'em  wide." 

"Thank  you.  Thank  you,  captain,"  said  the  colo 
nel.  "Sam,  get  all  the  bugles  you  can.  Give  a  horse 
for  a  bugle.  Give  anything!" 

The  captain  at  once  rode  into  Mexico  for  a  talk 
with  Colonel  Romero.  There  was,  indeed,  an  over- 
supply  of  musical  instruments  in  that  command,  and 
its  gallant  colonel  sympathized  impressively  with  the 
feelings  of  Cal's  father  and  friends.  So  did  two 
militiamen  who  were  happy  enough  to  own  unneces 
sary  bugles.  Sam  Herrick  did  not  give  a  horse  for 
either,  but  one  battered,  crooked  tube  of  sheet  brass 
brought  enough  money  to  replace  it  with  a  new  one 
at  least  half  silver. 

Captain  Moore  hardly  needed  to  explain  so  sim 
ple  a  plan.  He  had  tried  it  twice,  he  said,  for  stray 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  113 

men  of  his  own,  and  in  each  case  they  had  ridden 
safely  in.  Neither  he  nor  Colonel  Evans  guessed 
that  Cal  had  already  ridden  away  beyond  the  stretch 
of  chaparral  in  which  they  proposed  to  toot  for  him. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

HOW  PING  AND  TAH-NU-NU  GOT  TO  THE  SPRING. 

COLONEL  ROMERO  and  his  gay  lancers  and 
his  picturesque  ranchero  militia  rode  away 
along  the  well-marked  trail  so  carefully  left  for  them 
by  the  Apaches.  It  led  manifestly  into  their  own  re 
public,  and  there  seemed  to  be  no  danger  whatever 
of  their  losing  it.  They  had  two  bugles  less  than 
when  they  entered  the  chaparral,  but  they  made 
noise  enough  to  notify  any  red  men  lurking  in  the 
bushes  ahead  of  them  that  they  were  coming.  The 
one  special  precaution  which  they  continually  took 
was  against  possible  ambuscades.  They  were  deter 
mined  not  to  be  taken  by  surprise,  and  their  wary 
scouts  routed  out  a  considerable  number  of  jackass 
rabbits  and  sage-hens.  Beyond  these  they  met  with 
no  excitement  whatever  until  they  came  to  the  barren 
gravel  patch,  beyond  which  the  Apache  trail  did 
not  go. 

Here  a  halt  was  called — necessarily.  The  pride 
of  a  Mexican  army  officer,  and  of  a  round  score  of 
them,  was  in  the  way  of  going  back  to  Cold  Spring 
to  tell  some  Americans  of  a  kind  of  defeat.  It  was 
talked  over,  and  a  decision  was  wisely  reached.  The 
Apaches,  it  was  concluded,  had  not  gone  down  into 
the  earth  nor  up  into  the  air.  They  had  scattered 

114 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  115 

through  different  paths  of  the  chaparral,  to  come 
together  again  at  some  point  farther  on — probably 
at  the  outer  edge  of  it.  Kah-go-mish  would  have 
fully  approved  of  that  piece  of  sagacity,  for  it  sent 
the  Mexican  part  of  the  forces  pursuing  him  a  num 
ber  of  miles  farther  into  Mexico.  As  for  that  cun 
ning  Apache  himself,  he  seemed  a  model  of  human 
patience.  The  sage-hen  had  at  last  deserted  him. 
She  had  seen  the  Mexicans  depart,  and  that  was 
enough  for  her.  Perhaps  she  knew  of  other  old 
chaparral  ladies  like  herself  to  whom  she  wished  to 
tell  the  latest  news. 

At  all  events  she  scurried  suddenly  away  and  left 
Kah-jjo-mish  trying  to  understand  the  next  military 
operation  going  on  at  the  spring. 

Of  course  the  slaughtered  Chiricahua  scout  was 
carried  into  the  bushes  and  buried.  Then  the  blue- 
coats  and  their  commander  rode  away  upon  a  path 
which  promised  to  keep  them  most  of  the  time  within 
the  United  States.  After  that  the  cowboy  part  of 
the  American  expedition  gathered  at  the  spring,  and 
evidently  held  a  sort  of  council.  It  was  of  impor 
tance  to  Apache  plans  to  get  an  idea  of  what  theirs 
might  be,  and  the  watcher  in  the  rabbit-path  lay  very 
still.  He  saw  man  after  man  take  a  bugle  and 
blow  on  it,  as  if  trying  to  see  how  loud  a  noise 
he  could  make.  He  did  not  know  Joaquin  by 
name,  but  gave  him  the  prize,  decidedly,  in  his  own 
mind. 

While  all  this  was  going  on,  it  might  have  been 
as  well  for  the  family  peace  of  the  chief  if  he  could 
have  been  attending  to  the  welfare  of  his  two  prom 
ising  children. 


n6  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

Ping  and  Tah-nu-nu  rode  on,  with  something  like 
hope  and  confidence,  for  a  while  after  their  glimpse 
of  the  red  mustang  and  his  rider.  Every  now  and 
then  The-boy-whose-ear-pushed-away-a-piece-of-lead 
had  something  to  say  about  the  wonderful  pony  he 
had  seen,  and  it  was  plain  that  he  did  not  quite  agree 
with  Tah-nu-nu  as  to  the  wickedness  of  sending  the 
arrow  after  Cal. 

His  band  had  left  the  Reservation  and  had  es 
caped  from  all  peril  of  becoming  civilized,  and  some 
day  or  other  he  felt  sure  of  going  upon  the  war-path 
against  the  pale-faces  with  the  hope  of  killing  them 
all.  In  the  meantime  they  were  coming  to  take  away 
his  father's  horses,  and  he  believed  himself  at  war 
with  them. 

He  grew  moody  and  silent,  and  it  was  partly  be 
cause  he  and  his  pony  were  uncommonly  thirsty. 
He  did  not  say  so,  for  he  was  a  young  warrior  who 
had  already  slain  a  cougar  and  had  eaten  the 
cougar's  heart,  well  roasted,  and  it  did  not  become 
him  to  show  any  signs  of  fatigue  or  suffering.  The 
path  they  followed  was  a  strip  of  yielding  sand,  up 
to  a  point  where  Ping  pulled  in  his  pony  with  a  jerk. 
Another  path,  as  wide,  ran  into  it  right  there,  bring 
ing  "bad  medicine." 

"Ugh!"  exclaimed  Ping.  "Pale-face!  Blue- 
coat!" 

"Ugh!"  was  the  only  response  of  Tah-nu-nu,  as 
she  leaned  over  and  looked  down  at  the  plain  marks 
left  behind  by  the  hoofs  of  iron-shod  horses. 

There  were  many  of  them,  and  they  all  went  in 
one  direction. 

"Heap   blue-coat!"   exclaimed   Ping,    again  and 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  117 

again ;  and  it  seemed  as  if  the  troubles  of  Tah-nu-nu 
and  himself  had  been  multiplied. 

The  trail  of  their  enemies  led  to  some  place  in 
particular  beyond  a  doubt,  but  that  must  be  the  very 
place  to  which  no  Apache  boy  and  girl  wished  to  go. 
They  must  try  another  path. 

Slowly,  watchfully,  they  followed  the  cavalry  trail 
for  a  moderate  distance  until  another  hopeful  outlet 
presented  itself.  They  were  agreed  this  time,  and 
rode  on  side  by  side,  wondering  more  and  more 
where  could  be  the  hiding-place  of  their  own  people. 

They  had  not  by  any  means  wandered  so  far  out 
of  the  right  track  as  had  Cal  Evans,  but,  after  their 
first  mistake  had  been  discovered,  had  seemed  to  find 
a  curious  kind  of  instinct  of  their  own  guiding  them 
— just  a  little  like  that  which  might  have  l^d  a  pair 
of  unwise  young  antelopes.  They  were  born  chil 
dren  of  the  plains,  and  Cal  was  not.  Even  now 
their  general  idea  of  the  direction  to  be  taken  led 
them  towards  the  central  point  which  should  have 
been  their  aim. 

Perhaps  it  would  be  more  correct  to  say  that  it 
should  not  have  been  their  aim  under  the  circum 
stances,  for  it  was  the  very  point  to  which  the  other 
winding  pathway,  the  cavalry  trail,  also  tended  after 
making  a  wide  sweep. 

There  was  no  one  to  give  them  any  information, 
but  again  and  again  they  halted  to  consider  the  mat 
ter  and  to  rest  their  thirsty  ponies.  It  was  slow 
travelling  and  every  way  unpleasant  to  a  pair  of 
young  people  who  had  set  out  that  morning  with  a 
merry  assurance  that  the  great  chief,  the  father  of 
whom  they  were  so  proud,  had  outwitted  the  Mexi- 


n8  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

cans  and  was  about  to  outwit  the  blue-coats  and  the 
cowboys. 

He,  lying  in  his  rabbit-path,  was  now  very  nearly 
ready  to  declare  to  himself  what  was  the  best  thing 
for  a  great  Mescalero  Apache  to  do  next,  when  he 
was  called  upon  to  witness  an  extraordinary  perfor 
mance.  The  bugle-practice  had  closed  many  min 
utes;  the  last  horse  had  eaten  his  rations  and  had 
been  watered.  The  last  cowboy  had  sprung  to  the 
saddle;  squads  had  been  counted  off;  directions  had 
been  given  by  Colonel  Evans,  and  each  small  party 
was  about  to  enter  the  chaparral  by  a  different 
path. 

The  spring  was  deserted,  and  its  flashing  ripples, 
with  the  white  rock  around  them,  could  be  seen  at  a 
distance  by  any  rider  coming  along  one  of  the 
straighter  avenues.  Two  who  came  along  saw  it, 
and  each  uttered  a  glad,  thirsty  cry.  A  sort  of 
despair  left  them  so  instantly  that  they  did  not  pause 
for  thought  or  consultation.  Boy  and  girl  together, 
they  lashed  their  ponies  and  dashed  recklessly  for 
ward.  Their  shouts  had  been  heard. 

"There's  Call"  exclaimed  one  cowboy. 

"He's  coming,"  said  another. 

A  third  had  his  hat  off  and  was  just  on  the  point 
of  hurrahing  when  the  deep  voice  of  Colonel  Evans, 
in  a  distinct  though  suppressed  tone,  warned  them. 

"Silence,  all !     It  isn't  his  voice.    Wait." 

They  waited,  and  it  was  barely  a  full  minute 
before  Kah-go-mish  saw  Ping  and  Tah-nu-nu  halt 
their  ponies  at  the  spring. 

"Ping!"  screamed  Tah-nu-nu. 

"Ugh!"  said  he.    "Cowboy!" 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  119 

On  all  sides  appeared  the  mysteriously  unexpected 
horsemen,  swiftly  closing  around  them.  It  was  of 
no  use  to  run  or  to  resist.  The  chief's  daughter  and, 
The-boy-whose-ear-pushed-away-a-piece-of-lead  were 
prisoners  in  the  hands  of  the  very  men  who  had  come 
to  steal  from  their  father  all  the  good  horses  he  had 
gathered  upon  Slater's  Branch. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

HOW  DICK  PLAYED  SENTINEL. 

THAT  had  been  a  warm  and  also  a  very  busy 
day  at  Santa  Lucia  Ranch.  It  began,  like  other 
days,  with  an  early  breakfast  for  all  who  awoke 
under  the  roof  of  the  hacienda,  and  everybody  had 
conjectures  to  make,  of  course,  as  to  the  where 
abouts  and  doings  of  Cal  and  his  father  and  the 
Apache-hunting  expedition. 

Mrs.  Evans  and  Vic  did  not  care  for  a  horseback 
ride.  In  fact,  Vic  said  she  did  not  care  much  for 
anything.  About  the  middle  of  the  forenoon,  how 
ever,  two  hammocks  that  swung  under  the  awning  in 
front  of  the  veranda  became  suddenly  empty. 

There  came  a  great  shouting  and  whip-cracking 
out  upon  the  prairie.  It  sounded  along  the  well- 
marked  old  wagon-road  which  came  down  from  the 
north.  Whole  army  trains  had  travelled  that  road 
from  time  to  time,  and  now  a  great  tilted  wagon, 
drawn  by  six  mules  and  followed  by  four  more,  came 
rolling  smoothly  in  the  deep  old  ruts. 

There  was  a  cowboy  ready  to  open  the  gate  and 
let  in  the  wagon.  News  of  its  coming  was  already 
in  the  house,  and  every  soul  hurried  out  to  wel 
come  it. 

"Sure,  and  it's  glad  I  am  that  it's  come,"  said 
Norah  McLory.  "There  wasn't  coffee  to  last  the 
wake,  let  alone  sugar." 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  121 

The  beauty  of  that  wagon  was  all  in  its  cargo. 
It  belonged  to  Colonel  Evans,  and  it  brought  sup 
plies  all  the  way  down  from  Santa  Fe.  The  unload 
ing  and  investigation  of  the  things  under  the  ample 
tilt  was  an  affair  of  fun  and  excitement  and  surprises 
worth  a  whole  week  of  shopping  in  the  city. 

Full  orders  had  been  sent  by  that  six-mule  express, 
for  such  a  trip  was  costly  and  could  not  be  afforded 
too  frequently;  but  even  Mrs.  Evans  had  not  been 
permitted  to  examine  all  the  lists  of  goods  before 
they  went,  and  Vic  knew  almost  nothing  about  them. 
It  was,  therefore,  something  like  a  tremendous 
Christmas  morning  coming  in  June. 

The  groceries,  both  as  to  assortment  and  quan 
tity,  delighted  the  very  heart  of  Norah  McLory. 
There  were  cloths  and  clothing  for  all  the  needs  of 
Santa  Lucia.  One  whole  packing-case  was  marked 
as  belonging  especially  to  Mrs.  Evans,  but  it  might 
almost  as  well  have  been  directed  to  Vic.  The  next 
was  smaller  and  had  no  name  upon  it,  but  when  it 
was  opened  it  compelled  Vic  to  exclaim,  again  and 
again :  "How  I  do  wish  Cal  were  here !  What  won't 
he  say  when  he  gets  home  !" 

However  that  might  be,  Cal  heard  Ping's  arrow 
whiz  past  him  just  a  little  before  Vic  laid  down  his 
new  breech-loading  double-barrelled  shotgun  and 
began  to  admire  his  neckties,  his  pocket-knife,  com 
pass,  and  a  lot  of  other  treasures. 

The  miscellaneous  cargo  of  the  tilted  wagon  had 
cost  the  price  obtained  for  a  goodly  number  of 
horned  cattle.  The  value  of  two  fine  mules  had  been 
expended  upon  another  kind  of  supplies. 

There  was  no  post-office  at  or  near  Santa  Lucia, 


122  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

and  letters  found  their  way  there  as  best  they  might, 
at  long  intervals.  Newspapers  came  in  like  manner, 
if  they  came  at  all,  but  now  the  tilt  of  that  wagon 
had  covered  a  very  large  amount  of  news.  Some 
of  it  was  beginning  to  get  a  little  old  in  the  rest  of 
the  world,  for  there  were  several  files  of  well-known 
Eastern  weekly  journals,  three  months  in  length. 
Illustrated  journals  were  there,  and  magazines,  for 
young  and  old.  The  remainder  of  those  mules  had 
gone  for  books.  One  serious  element  of  the  loneli 
ness  Vic  had  complained  of  in  her  ranch  life  vanished 
at  once. 

"I've  loads  of  good  company  now,"  she  said,  after 
dinner,  as  she  began  at  last  to  swing  in  one  of  the 
hammocks. 

A  stack  of  printed  matter  lay  on  the  ground  beside 
her,  and  the  thin,  wide  pamphlet  in  her  hand  empha 
sized  her  declaration:  "I  always  want  to  see  all  the 
pictures  first." 

Mrs.  Evans  was  in  the  other  hammock.  She  had 
finished  some  letters  before  dinner,  and  now  she  was 
at  work  with  the  newspapers,  trying  to  find  out  what 
great  things  had  happened  in  the  world  since  it  had 
been  heard  from  at  Santa  Lucia. 

The  day  died  slowly  away,  as  it  always  will  in 
June.  The  pictures  were  looked  at,  the  news  was 
read,  the  books  were  turned  over,  and  if  the  day  had 
not  been  so  very  warm  more  might  have  been  done 
with  the  other  contents  of  the  tilted  wagon.  Even 
Norah  McLory  put  away  the  liberal  provision  made 
for  her  department,  and  sat  down  to  think  of  it. 

"They'll  not  milt  away,"  she  said,  "but  that's 
more'n  I  can  prove  about  mesilf.  Injins  is  fond  of 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  123 

sugar,  and  there's  two  barrels  of  it  here  now.  Oh, 
the  villains." 

Vic  stood  out  beyond  the  awning  and  watched  the 
sun  go  down  over  the  cloudlike  tops  of  the  western 
mountains. 

"What  are  you  thinking  of,  Vic?"  asked  her 
mother,  from  under  the  awning. 

"Why,  mother,  Cal  and  father  are  somewhere 
away  out  there.  They're  pretty  near  the  Sierra, 
maybe.  I  was  wondering  in  what  sort  of  a  camp 
Cal  had  eaten  his  supper." 

Cal  was  not  in  any  camp,  and  he  had  not  eaten 
any  supper.  He  did  not  ride  Dick  uselessly  the 
remainder  of  that  hot  afternoon.  At  first  he  took 
long  rests,  and  then  he  dismounted  altogether  and 
walked.  The  red  mustang  needed  no  leading,  but 
seemed  to  feel  better  when  his  human  company  was 
close  beside  him,  with  a  hand  upon  the  bridle.  He 
was  evidently  suffering  from  thirst  rather  than  from 
fatigue,  and  so  was  his  master.  Every  now  and 
then  any  path  they  happened  to  be  in  led  out  into 
barren  reaches  of  sand  and  gravel,  on  any  side  of 
which  they  were  at  liberty  to  choose  among  several 
avenues,  and  this  was  one  of  the  treacherous  puzzles 
of  the  chaparral.  Cal  did  not  know  that  the  red 
men  who  had  threaded  that  maze  before  him  had 
left  marks  of  their  own  upon  the  trunks  of  the  mes- 
quit  scrubs.  He  could  not  have  read,  if  he  had 
known,  for  he  was  worse  off  than  a  foreigner  in  a 
strange,  great  city. 

Twice  he  saw  a  wolf  go  trotting  across  the  vista 
ahead  of  him,  and  once  a  gang  of  antelopes  dashed 
away  as  he  came  in  sight.  Somewhere  in  that  tern- 


i24  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

ble  tangle  there  must  be  human  beings,  red  and 
white,  he  knew,  and  he  would  almost  have  welcomed 
the  sight  of  an  Indian  when  he  saw  the  sun  go  down. 

The  moon  did  not  rise,  at  once,  and  it  was  very 
dark  and  gloomy,  as  well  as  oppressively  warm,  in 
the  chaparral.  Heat  came  up  from  the  sun-baked 
sand,  and  more  heat  seemed  to  creep  out  from  among 
the  bushes. 

It  was  a  time  for  Cal  to  look  away  down  inside 
of  himself  and  to  call  out  all  the  courage  there  was 
in  him. 

"I  can  stand  it  another  day,  I  know  I  can,"  he 
said  to  himself,  "and  I've  got  it  to  do.  I  won't  wear 
out  Dick.  We  must  rest  all  night.  It  won't  be  a 
long  night.  Soon  as  it's  light  we  must  be  moving. 
It'll  be  cooler  then." 

The  spot  that  was  somehow  selected  for  his  lonely 
bivouac  was  near  the  point  where  two  broad  paths 
crossed  each  other.  Cal  could  not  guess  where  they 
came  from  nor  where  they  went  to,  nor  which  of 
them  it  would  be  best  for  him  to  travel  by  in  the 
morning. 

He  fastened  Dick's  lariat  to  a  bush,  but  there  was 
no  grass  for  the  faithful  mustang  to  pick  upon.  He 
stood  in  the  path  a  very  picture  of  patience, 
except  that  now  and  then  he  expressed  a  little 
thirsty  discontent  by  a  dejected  pawing  of  the  hot 
sand. 

Cal  had  a  blanket  strapped  behind  the  saddle, 
and  he  now  spread  it  and  lay  down.  He  even  went 
to  sleep,  and  how  long  he  had  slumbered  he  did  not 
know,  when  he  was  awakened  by  Dick's  face  close 
to  his  own,  and  a  whimpering,  low  neigh.  The  red 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  125 

mustang  was  acting  as  a  sentinel,  and  had  heard 
something. 

"What  is  it,  Dick?"  asked  Cal,  as  he  sprang  to 
his  feet,  but  the  answer  came  in  an  unexpected 
manner. 

There  was  a  tramping  sound  along  the  other  path, 
and  then  Cal  heard  voices.  The  moon  was  up,  now, 
and  its  light  fell  upon  what  seemed  an  endless  pro 
cession  of  horses  and  mules.  There  were  mounted 
men  among  them,  and  Cal  knew  who  they  were. 

"That's  so,"  he  muttered.  "Those  are  the  very 
Apaches  we  are  after.  Where  can  they  be  going  at 
this  time  of  night?" 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

BAD  NEWS   FOR  WAH-WAH-OBE. 

KAH-GO-MISH  was  an  Apache,  but  he  was  also 
a  father.  He  lay  in  his  rabbit-path,  under  the 
bushes,  and  saw  the  surrender  of  his  children.  Up 
he  came  upon  all  fours,  glaring  ferociously  upon 
their  captors.  For  a  moment  his  whole  body  seemed 
to  swell  and  quiver  with  wrath.  Then  he  lay  down 
again,  and  he  even  smiled  with  pride  over  the  ex 
cellent  behavior  of  Ping  and  Tah-nu-nu. 

Sam  Herrick  held  out  his  hand  to  The-boy-whose- 
ear-pushed-away-a-piece-of-lead  with  a  very  friendly 
"How!" 

"Ugh!     Cowboy!"  said  Ping.     "How!" 

Tah-nu-nu,  on  the  other  hand,  remained  primly 
silent,  and  did  not  reply  in  any  manner  when  one 
after  the  other  of  the  pale-face  braves  around  her 
asked  what  her  name  was  and  where  she  came  from 
and  where  she  was  going. 

Ping  was  first  questioned  in  English,  but  all  of 
that  tongue  that  he  had  picked  up  upon  the  Reserva 
tion  seemed  to  have  gone  from  him.  Then  Colonel 
Evans  tried  him  in  Spanish,  and  he  looked  as  if  he 
had  never  in  all  his  life  heard  a  Mexican  speak,  for 
the  substance  of  the  inquiry  in  both  languages  was, 
"Where  is  Kah-go-mish?  Where  is  your  band?" 

Tah-nu-nu  said  something  to  him  in  Apache  at 
126 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  127 

that  moment,  and  a  Chiricahua,  whom  she  had  not 
seen,  standing  behind  her,  interpreted  it  to  Colonel 
Evans. 

"That's  it,  is  it?"  exclaimed  Cal's  father.  "She 
says  that  they  mustn't  let  us  know  that  the  band  is 
in  the  chaparral.  Now  I  know  better  what  to  do." 

The  glances  bestowed  upon  the  Chiricahua  by 
Ping  and  Tah-nu-nu  were  not  arrows,  or  they  would 
have  killed  him. 

"Boys,"  said  the  colonel,  "treat  them  first-rate, 
but  they  mustn't  get  away.  Now  let's  go  after  Cal." 

Kah-go-mish  saw  his  children  supplied  with  water, 
fed  well,  laughed  with,  questioned,  every  way  well- 
treated,  and  then  he  saw  them  mounted  upon  fresh 
ponies. 

"Ugh!"  he  muttered.  "Pale-face  chief  heap  big 
man.  Got  heart.  Good.  No  hurt  him.  Kill  Mexi 
can.  No  kill  cowboy." 

He  lingered  a  little  longer,  for  he  wondered  what 
those  pale-faces  were  up  to.  They  rode  away  in 
squads,  by  different  paths,  and  at  regular  intervals 
he  heard  them  blowing  tremendously  upon  their 
bugles.  They  fired  shots,  too,  now  and  then,  and  the 
sounds  receded  farther  and  farther  into  the  chapar 
ral.  It  was  altogether  a  very  remarkable  proceed 
ing,  such  as  the  chief  had  never  before  heard  of.  He 
said  to  himself  that  there  must  be  some  kind  of 
"medicine"  in  it.  He  had  no  fear  of  any  bodily 
harm  to  his  children,  but  their  capture  by  the  cow 
boys  had  suddenly  put  a  new  element  into  all  the 
plans  he  had  made.  He  still  had  the  Santa  Lucia 
horses,  but  the  men  from  that  ranch  and  its  vicinity 
had  Ping  and  Tah-nu-nu. 


128  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

Kah-go-mish  did  not  go  out  to  examine  a  lot  of 
miscellaneous  camp-property  left  lying  around  loose 
near  the  spring.  He  did  not  wish  to  share  the  fate 
he  had  meted  out  to  the  imprudent  Chiricahua  scout. 
He  suspected  that  a  squad  of  cowboys,  guarding  the 
extra  horses,  was  lurking  near  by,  under  cover  of 
the  bushes,  and  that  their  rifles  protected  the  coffee 
pots  and  kettles.  He  had,  also,  a  pretty  clear  idea 
that  all  the  cowboys  would  soon  return,  and  probably 
the  blue-coats  also,  but  he  believed  himself  rid  of 
Colonel  Romero's  Mexicans.  "Ugh !"  he  exclaimed, 
at  last.  "Kah-go-mish  is  a  great  chief.  Know  what 
do,  if  know  where  Mexicans  gone." 

Back  he  crept  through  the  bushes  until  he  deemed 
it  safe  for  him  to  stand  erect,  and  then  he  went 
farther  at  a  rapid  rate,  considering  the  heat  of  the 
weather.  He  was  bent  upon  an  important  purpose 
that  called  for  all  sorts  of  activity. 

"Where  Mexicans  gone?"  was  a  question  over 
which  there  had  been  several  badly  puzzled  argu 
ments  already. 

Colonel  Romero  had  led  his  men  away  along  the 
trail  so  carefully  prepared  for  him  by  the  Apaches. 
He  had  had  no  suspicion  that  the  trampled  sand,  so 
well  marked  by  dragged  lodge-poles,  was  all  a  trap. 
His  best  scouts  had  fallen  into  it  completely,  and 
the  whole  command  had  been  entirely  satisfied  until 
they  came  to  the  patch  of  gravel  where  the  trail 
vanished.  Even  after  that  they  pushed  along  until 
they  came  out  at  the  southwestern  border  of  the 
chaparral.  This  was  precisely  what  Kah-go-mish 
had  hoped  they  would  do,  and  right  before  them  lay 
the  other  part  of  his  cunningly  set  trap.  It  was  an 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  129 

ancient  trail,  which  was  well  known  by  Colonel  Ro 
mero  and  by  some  of  his  more  experienced  Indian- 
fighters.  It  led  deeper  into  their  own  country,  and 
it  also  led  to  good  grass  and  water,  to  be  reached 
by  riding  on  until  dark. 

A  brief  council  was  held,  but  the  arguments 
seemed  to  be  nearly  all  upon  one  side.  It  was  set 
forth  that  the  Apaches  must  have  taken  that  road 
because  they  could  not  remain  in  the  chaparral  to 
die  of  thirst  and  hunger  or  to  be  struck  by  the 
American  cavalry  and  the  cowboys.  The  Mexican 
horses  and  men  must  have  water,  and  so  they  must 
go  forward,  and  that  was  their  only  road.  As  to 
their  train  of  pack-mules  and  spare  horses,  it  was 
safe,  they  said.  It  would  reach  Cold  Spring,  and 
would  find  the  Americans  there.  It  would  get  direc 
tions  from  them,  and  could  not  lose  its  way. 

All  the  remaining  Mexican  bugles  sounded  the 
advance,  and  the  command  moved  away  along  the 
trail.  A  solitary  Apache  boy,  a  head  taller  than 
Ping,  lurking  near  among  some  very  thick  bushes, 
saw  them  go.  As  soon  as  they  were  well  away  he 
was  on  the  back  of  his  pony,  at  full  gallop,  and  evi 
dently  was  in  no  doubt  whatever  as  to  the  right  path 
for  him  to  take.  He  reached  the  camp  of  his  people 
just  in  time  to  report  to  the  returning  Kah-go-mish 
that  the  trap  set  for  the  Mexicans  had  been  a  com 
plete  success. 

The  chief  had  sent  away  that  part  of  his  many 
perils,  but  he  had  rapid  orders  to  give  now.  He 
had  also  a  very  difficult  report  to  make  to  Wah- 
wah-o-be,  and  she  listened  to  most  of  it  with  her 
blanket  over  her  head. 


1 30  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

Kah-go-mish  told  her  how  well  Ping  and  Tah- 
nu-nu  had  been  treated,  but  she  was  inconsolable 
at  first. 

The-boy-whose-ear-pushed-away-a-piece-of-lead, 
the  young  chief  who  had  killed  a  cougar,  and  who 
was  yet  to  surpass  the  fame  of  his  great  father,  was 
a  prisoner  in  the  hands  of  the  wicked  pale-faces.  So 
was  the  beautiful  Tah-nu-nu,  the  most  promising 
young  squaw  of  the  entire  Apache  nation.  Wah- 
wah-o-be  fully  appreciated  her  children.  She  knew 
all  their  good  qualities,  and  she  mentioned  most  of 
them  then  and  there.  What  if  both  Ping  and  his 
sister  were  to  be  carried  away  to  some  distant  place 
among  the  great  lodges  and  the  terrible  magicians 
of  the  pale-faces,  and  compelled  to  become  them 
selves  pale-faces?  To  be  turned  into  something 
different  from  their  noble  father  and  mother?  Such 
things  had  been  done,  and  she  had  heard  of  them. 

The  light  of  her  life  seemed  to  have  departed,  and 
Wah-wah-o-be  cared  very  little  what  further  dis 
asters  might  now  come  to  her.  She  even  valued  all 
the  horses  of  the  band  at  only  a  fraction  of  what 
they  had  seemed  to  be  worth  that  morning. 

The  blanket  came  down  at  last,  for  Kah-go-mish 
had  given  all  his  directions  to  his  warriors,  and  there 
was  work  proposed  which  seemed  to  stir  them  to  a 
high  pitch  of  enthusiasm.  Wah-wah-o-be  had  her 
duties  also  to  attend  to,  and  she  knew  that  they 
must  all  get  out  of  the  chaparral.  She  saw  her 
heroic  husband  ride  away,  followed  by  nearly  all  the 
best  braves  of  the  band.  Then  she  and  all  who  were 
left  had  some  rapid  packing  to  do,  that  every  mule 
and  pony  might  be  ready  for  a  sudden  start  when- 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  131 

ever  the  war-party  should  return.  It  was  under 
stood  that  Kah-go-mish  had  outwitted  the  Mexicans, 
the  blue-coats,  and  the  cowboys,  and  that  he  was 
about  to  do  something  very  remarkable.  What, 
thought  Wah-wah-o-be,  if  he  should  also  succeed  in 
winning  back  Ping  and  Tah-nu-nu? 

He  did  not  seem  to  go  after  them  at  once.  He  led 
his  warriors,  as  nearly  directly  as  the  crooked  paths 
permitted,  to  the  very  trail  by  which  they  had  en 
tered  the  chaparral.  It  was  an  especially  wide  and 
well-marked  north-and-south  path  to  Cold  Spring 
for  anybody  coming  from  Mexico.  Half  a  mile  or 
more  from  the  spring,  among  the  bushes  along  the 
trail,  Kah-go-mish  carefully  hid  his  dismounted  war 
riors.  All  their  horses  were  well  away  behind  them, 
and  they  themselves  seemed  to  be  an  exceedingly 
cheerful,  hopeful,  and  self-satisfied  lot  of  red  men. 
If  there  was  one  thing  more  than  another  that  was 
exactly  suited  to  them,  it  was  an  ambush  with  a  dead 
certainty  of  surprising  somebody. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

HOW  CAL  STARTED  FOR  MEXICO. 

WAH-WAH-O-BE  and  Kah-go-mish  had  an  ad 
vantage  over  Colonel  Evans,  for  they  knew 
what  had  become  of  Ping  and  Tah-nu-nu  while  his 
uncertainty  about  Cal  grew  darker  and  darker.  He 
and  the  cowboys  faithfully  and  warily  threaded  the 
part  of  the  chaparral  through  which  they  had 
marched  in  the  earlier  hours  of  that  eventful  day. 
The  buglers  blew  regularly,  taking  care  not  to  get 
out  of  hearing  of  each  other,  but  the  firing  ceased 
after  it  was  discovered  that  a  clear  bugle-note  could 
be  heard  farther  than  could  the  report  of  a  gun. 

As  Ping  and  Tah-nu-nu  rode  slowly  along,  they 
began  to  comprehend  the  remarkable  proceedings 
which  had  so  completely  puzzled  their  father,  lying 
under  the  bushes.  Each  had  one  arm  connected  by 
a  lariat  with  the  arm  of  a  cowboy,  but  they  were  not 
far  from  one  another.  They  asked  no  questions  and 
had  refused  to  answer  any,  but  they  now  and  then 
exchanged  a  few  words  in  their  own  tongue  when 
the  Chiricahuas  were  out  of  hearing. 

On  went  the  fruitless  search,  and  at  last  the  two 
young  Apaches  were  led  to  a  place  where  two  paths 
ran  into  one.  They  knew  the  spot,  for  Ping  had  lost 
an  arrow  there.  He  remembered,  too,  how  he  had 
lost  it,  and  so  he  said  nothing,  but  Tah-nu-nu  had 

132 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  133 

nothing  upon  her  conscience,  and  she  turned  to  her 
brother  to  say,  "Ugh!  Heap  pony!" 

"Ah  ha !  You  saw  him,  did  you?"  said  the  sharp- 
eyed  cowboy  she  was  tied  to,  and  he  at  once  shouted 
to  Colonel  Evans,  who  was  riding  a  little  ahead  of 
them. 

"What  is  it,  Bill?" 

"Why,  colonel,  these  two  young  redskins  saw  him 
pass,  right  here.  The  gal  let  it  out  and  the  boy 
doesn't  deny  it." 

The  secret  was  out.  Ping  himself  gave  up  and 
was  milling  to  use  any  English  or  Spanish  words  he 
knew  in  telling  that  he  had  seen  "Heap  red  pony" 
gallop  away  by  the  path  which  led  to  the  right. 

"That's  the  red  mustang,"  said  the  colonel,  sadly. 
"Cal's  away  beyond  the  spring,  long  ago.  No  use  to 
hunt  hereaway  any  more.  Call  in  the  boys.  We 
must  try  the  western  chaparral.  Maybe  he  will  fall 
in  with  the  cavalry." 

He  did  not  say  why  he  shuddered,  but  the  thought 
he  did  not  utter  put  the  Apaches  in  place  of  the 
cavalry.  Hot,  weary,  and  disappointed,  he  rode 
back  to  the  spring  and  there  were  Captain  Moore 
and  his  tired-out  veterans.  They  had  ridden  far 
enough  to  satisfy  themselves  that  the  Apaches  had 
not  at  once  returned  to  the  United  States,  and  they 
had  neither  a  right  nor  a  wish  to  follow  any  trail 
into  Mexico. 

"Captain,"  said  Colonel  Evans,  "I  wish  we  were 
on  good  terms  with  the  Mescaleros.  They'd  be 
worth  all  the  white  men  to  hunt  for  Cal." 

"Tell  you  what  I  believe,  though,"  said  Sam  Her- 
rick,  "them  Taches  didn't  go  out  of  this  'ere  chap- 


i34  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

arral.  We're  bound  to  hear  from  'em  again.  I've 
heard  of  Kah-go-mish  before." 

At  the  mention  of  the  chief's  name  Tah-nu-nu 
looked  at  her  brother,  for  he  was  straightening  up 
proudly. 

"Kah-go-mish  great  chief !  Ugh !"  he  said,  with 
great  emphasis,  and  then  his  vanity  got  the  better  of 
him,  for  he  patted  himself  upon  the  breast,  adding 
all  the  Apache  syllables  of  "The-boy-whose-ear- 
pushed-away-a-piece-of-lead"  and  ended  with  "Son 
of  Kah-go-mish." 

He  did  not  feel  called  upon  to  say  that  Tah-nu-nu 
was  a  daughter,  but  her  face  told  enough. 

"That's  it,"  exclaimed  Sam  Herrick.  "We've 
caught  exactly  the  right  ones.  I  wish  their  dad  knew 
we  had  'em.  Just  as  I  said,  though,  we're  bound  to 
hear  more  from  Kah-go-mish." 

So  they  did,  but  in  a  somewhat  unexpected  man 
ner.  Away  out  near  the  southern  border  of  the 
chaparral  a  string  of  pack-mules  and  led  horses  came 
plodding  lazily  along,  late  that  afternoon,  guided  by 
a  dozen  rancheros.  They  were  in  no  danger,  for 
their  own  cavalry  had  swept  the  way  before  them. 
They  were  in  no  hurry,  for  they  were  mentally  sure 
of  encamping  at  Cold  Spring  and  of  meeting  Colonel 
Romero  there.  The  trail  before  them  was  abun 
dantly  plain.  No  quadruped  would  or  could 
wander  from  the  train,  and  two  of  the  rancheros 
rode  ahead,  more  were  scattered  in  the  middle,  and 
a  pair  who  seemed  almost  asleep  brought  up  the 
rear. 

A  more  helpless  military  procession  never 
marched  anywhere. 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  135 

The  two  rancheros  in  front  and  the  pair  in  the 
rear  suddenly  waked  up  to  find  themselves  accom 
panied  by  a  dozen  or  more  of  Indian  warriors,  all 
apparently  in  a  friendly  and  agreeable  frame  of1 
mind.  Not  a  whoop  was  uttered,  not  a  shot  was 
fired,  and  it  almost  looked  as  if  no  harm  were  in 
tended.  The  forward  rancheros  were  greeted  by  a 
tall  chief  in  a  cocked  hat,  with  red  stocking-legs  upon 
his  arms.  It  was  a  striking  uniform  for  even  an 
Apache  commanding  officer. 

"How!"  he  said,  as  he  held  out  his  hand.  "Kah- 
go-mish  is  a  great  chief.  Mexican  good  fellow. 
Bring  heap  pony,  heap  mule,  heap  plunder.  Give  all 
to  poor  Indian.  Ugh !" 

The  warriors  at  the  rear  smiled  and  said,  "How," 
but  then  they  took  away  the  lances  and  other 
weapons  of  the  train-guards,  as  fast  as  they  could 
get  at  them.  Resistance  was  out  of  the  question,  of 
course,  and  Kah-go-mish  had  good  reasons  for  not 
wishing  any  bloodshed.  It  might  have  interfered 
with  his  wonderful  plan. 

The  entire  train  was  quickly  under  the  care  of  the 
Mescaleros,  and  every  animal  in  it  was  turned 
around,  with  his  head  in  a  southerly  direction.  The 
unlucky  rancheros  were  collected,  on  foot,  in  the 
very  path  they  had  expected  to  follow  on  horseback. 
They  were  then  addressed,  in  tolerably  good  Mex 
ican  Spanish,  by  the  chief  himself.  He  told  them 
how  great  a  man  he  was,  and  gave  them  a  vivid 
picture,  a  series  of  animal  and  insect  illustrations, 
of  his  opinion  of  all  pale-faces,  all  Mexicans,  and 
all  Chiricahuas.  He  told  them  they  would  find  some 
blue-coats  at  the  spring,  and  some  Gringo  cowboys. 


136  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

The  chief  of  the  Gringos  was  a  great  man.  He  had 
given  some  horses  to  the  great  chief  Kah-go-mish. 
All  of  those  horses  were  to  be  given  back  to  him,  but 
the  chief  could  not  bring  them  now.  There  were  too 
many  bad  blue-coats  in  the  chaparral.  The  great 
chief  had  given  his  two  children  in  exchange  for  the 
horses,  and  wanted  to  trade  back  again.  He  would 
do  so,  but  not  now.  He  was  on  his  way  to  Mexico, 
to  carry  back  the  pack-mules  and  horses  he  had  just 
received  from  the  rancheros.  The  Mexicans  might 
want  them.  He  hoped  the  rancheros  would  succeed 
in  catching  up  with  the  cavalry.  They  all  looked 
like  good  runners. 

It  was  a  great  speech,  and  much  of  it  was  cheer 
fully  satirical.  Part  of  it  meant  that  Kah-go-mish 
knew  very  well  that  Captain  Moore  and  Colonel 
Evans  would  deem  it  their  duty  to  rescue  the  pack- 
train  if  an  opportunity  were  given  them,  and  that 
he  must  get  as  far  away  as  he  could  before  the  news 
of  his  exploit  reached  them. 

It  was  only  an  hour  before  sunset  when  the  plun 
dered  rancheros  were  set  free  to  find  their  way  to 
Cold  Spring,  for  they  had  not  so  very  far  to  go,  and 
Kah-go-mish  was  cautious.  As  soon  as  they  were 
out  of  sight  he  and  his  warriors  and  their  prize  were 
in  motion.  It  was  very  needful  that  they  should 
reach  grass  and  water  before  morning. 

So  far  the  deep  plan  of  the  Indian  leader  had 
worked  remarkably  well,  even  the  changes  called  for 
by  the  capture  of  Ping  and  Tah-nu-nu  being  as  yet 
in  the  future.  This  first  success  had  been  indicated 
by  Colonel  Romero  himself,  when  he  told  Captain 
Moore  about  the  pack-train.  The  old  sage-hen  had 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  137 

been  listening  at  the  same  time,  but  she  had  not 
profited  to  any  known  extent.  She  lacked  the  ears 
and  the  genius  of  Kah-go-mish,  and  perhaps  she  was 
not  at  war  with  Mexico. 

In  due  season,  among  the  webby  paths  of  the 
chaparral,  the  two  sections  of  the  Apache  band  came 
together.  Cold  Spring,  the  blue-coats,  and  the  cow 
boys  were  far  away;  the  Mexican  cavalry  were 
farther;  it  was  entirely  safe  for  everybody  to  whoop, 
and  whoop  they  did.  Once  more  had  the  chief  they 
were  all  proud  of  proved  himself  one  of  the  greatest 
men  of  the  Apache  nation. 

Wah-wah-o-be  had  even  a  more  hopeful  feeling 
concerning  Ping  and  Tah-nu-nu  when  she  saw  the 
Mexican  pack-mules  and  the  long  string  of  horses, 
but  she  and  all  the  rest  were  quickly  in  motion,  for 
they  knew  that  ten  miles  of  desert  lay  between  them 
and  the  nearest  grass  and  water  to  the  southward. 
More  than  one  path  led  from  the  camping-place  to 
the  edge  of  the  chaparral,  and  the  Apaches  used 
several  in  order  to  get  out  quickly.  Suddenly,  as 
they  pressed  forward,  a  loud  whoop  of  exultation 
that  arose  upon  one  of  those  lanes  was  heard  by  the 
red  wayfarers  in  all  the  others.  It  sounded  about 
two  minutes  after  the  red  mustang  sentinel  awoke 
his  master. 

Cal  Evans,  weary,  thirsty,  astonished,  and  won 
dering  what  might  be  best  for  him  to  do,  stood  in 
the  shadows,  watching  the  wonderful  moonlight  pro 
cession.  There  was  not  anything  left  for  him  to  do. 
Another  part  of  the  procession  came  trampling  along 
behind  him,  and  a  loud  neigh  from  Dick  told  him 
that  it  was  coming.  His  heart  beat  very  hard  for  a 


i38  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

moment,  and  then  the  whoop  of  triumph  which  went 
to  the  ears  of  Kah-go-mish  and  the  rest  of  the  band 
announced  that  Cal  and  the  red  mustang  were  pris 
oners  of  the  Mescalero  Apaches. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

THE  MANITOU  OF  COLD  SPRING. 

SORRY  about  Cal,"  said  Captain  Moore,  after 
he  and  Colonel  Evans  had  exchanged  reports. 
"We  must  all  get  out  early  in  the  morning  and  scour 
the  western  chaparral.  We  shall  find  him." 

It  was  getting  too  late  for  any  more  searching  that 
day.  The  shadows  were  lengthening  in  the  chap 
arral.  Besides,  both  men  and  animals  were  in  need 
of  rest. 

Every  cowboy  and  cavalryman  felt  and  spoke 
strongly  about  Cal,  but  the  best  that  could  be  ob 
tained  from  a  Chiricahua  was,  "Ugh !  'Pache  get 
boy." 

That  was  an  idea  in  other  minds,  for  even  Ping 
told  Tah-nu-nu :  "Heap  pony  find  Kah-go-mish." 

"Kah-go-mish  no  kill,"  she  said. 

Ping  was  all  but  dreaming  of  the  red  mustang. 
Never  before  had  he  looked  upon  an  animal  which 
so  fully  came  up  to  his  idea  of  what  a  horse  should 
be.  That  is,  a  horse  for  a  young  Apache  of  about 
his  size,  and  the  son  of  a  great  chief. 

Tah-nu-nu  was  not  thinking  of  horses.  She  and 
her  brother  had  been  kindly  treated.  It  was  plain 
that  they  were  not  to  be  cruelly  killed;  at  least  not 
right  away,  for  they  had  been  fed  abundantly.  They 
were  now  provided  wijth  blankets,  and  the  white 

139 


1 40  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

chief  of  the  cowboys  even  went  further.  He  was  an 
old  Indian  trader,  and  he  had  not  gone  out  upon 
such  an  expedition  unprepared  to  negotiate  as  well 
as  to  fight.  The  first  essential  of  any  talk  with  red 
men  is  presents,  and  there  were  curious  things  in  a 
pack  carried  by  one  of  the  mules.  From  this  collec 
tion  Cal's  father  now  selected  two  little  round  mir 
rors,  set  in  white  metal,  as  pretty  as  silver,  and  two 
startling  red-white-and-blue  yard-wide  handker 
chiefs.  The  mirrors  he  hung  around  the  necks  of 
his  captives,  and  they  puzzled  themselves  for  half 
an  hour  over  what  they  should  do  with  the  brilliant 
pieces  of  cotton  cloth.  Tah-nu-nu  found  out,  for  she 
tied  hers  around  her  head,  and  Ping  followed  her 
example. 

They  had  been  allowed  to  sit  down  by  the  spring, 
closely  watched  and  guarded  by  one  of  the  Chiri- 
cahuas.  They  proudly  refused  to  speak  a  word  to 
him,  although  Ping's  pride  was  gratified  now  with 
any  talk  offered  him  by  the  mighty  blue-coats  or  the 
cowboy  warriors  of  the  pale-faces. 

The  Chiricahua,  however,  was  quite  an  old  man, 
and  he  managed  to  break  through  the  barrier  of 
Ping's  reserve. 

"Ugh !"  he  said,  pointing  to  the  surveyor's  chisel- 
marks  upon  the  face  of  the  rock  before  them,  which 
told  of  the  boundary  line  between  the  two  republics. 
"Bad  medicine.  Drive  away  Apache  manitou." 

Wah-wah-o-be  herself  could  not  have  more  cun 
ningly  stirred  a  chord  of  Indian  curiosity.  Tah-nu-nu 
was  a  young  squaw,  and  remained  silent,  as  became 
her,  but  she  stared  at  the  tokens  of  pale-face  magic. 
Ping  did  the  same  for  a  moment. 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  141 

"Ugh  I"  he  said.  "Bad  medicine  for  Mescalero. 
Good  for  Chiricahua." 

"No,  no  good,"  said  the  old  man,  with  strong 
emphasis,  pointing  to  some  dark-red  stains  upon  the 
rock.  "Chiricahua  die  there.  Heap  fool.  Not 
watch  for  bad  manitou." 

"Ugh  1"  replied  Ping,  and  then  for  the  first  time 
he  learned  of  the  deed  his  father  had  done  there  that 
very  morning. 

"Kah-go-mish  is  a  great  chief!"  he  said,  swelling 
with  pride,  but  the  old  Chiricahua  shook  his  head. 

"Chief  heap  fool,"  he  said.  "Kill  Indian.  Get 
kill  himself  some  day." 

He  had  more  to  say  about  the  spring.  It  had 
once  been  good  medicine  for  all  Indians,  especially 
for  all  the  branches  of  the  great  Apache  nation. 
The  Mexicans,  whom  he  described  in  terms  as  pic 
turesque  as  those  employed  by  Kah-go-mish,  had 
come  first.  They  had  drunk  of  the  spring,  but  their 
medicine  had  been  weak  and  had  failed.  The  mani 
tou  of  the  Apaches  had  not  been  driven  away.  Long 
afterwards  had  come  the  Northern  pale-faces, 
among  whom  were  men  with  red  beards,  like  that  of 
Captain  Moore,  and  whose  warriors  wore  blue  coats. 
They  had  great  guns,  and  their  medicine  was  power 
ful.  They  had  forced  the  Mexicans  to  divide  the 
spring  with  them,  and  had  cut  a  mark  in  the  rock, 
so  that  the  manitou  of  the  Apaches  could  not  stay 
there. 

"Ever  since  that  time,"  said  the  old  Chiricahua, 
"the  Apache  bands  could  visit  the  spring  and  drink, 
but  it  was  not  well  for  them  to  camp  there.  They 
were  safer  anywhere  out  in  the  chaparral." 


1 42  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

He  had  evidently  taken  a  deep  interest  in  his  own 
narration,  and  had  been  listened  to  attentively  by 
Ping  and  Tah-nu-nu.  They  had  believed  every  word, 
and  wanted  to  hear  more,  although  the  darkness 
was  beginning  to  settle  over  the  camp,  and  all  the 
sentries  and  pickets  had  been  posted,  but  just  at  this 
moment  a  shout  was  heard,  and  then  another,  among 
the  southerly  bushes. 

There  were  sharp  questions  and  answers  in  Span 
ish  and  English,  while  all  the  men  in  camp  sprang 
to  their  feet.  So  did  the  old  Chiricahua  and  Ping 
and  Tah-nu-nu,  and  in  a  moment  more  they  saw  a 
dozen  unarmed  men,  on  foot,  file  dejectedly  out  into 
the  light  of  the  camp-fires. 

They  were  the  rancheros  who  had  been  in  charge 
of  the  Mexican  spare  horses  and  pack-mules. 

Captain  Moore,  his  officers,  Colonel  Evans,  and 
several  cowboys  listened  to  the  remarkable  story, 
helped  out  as  it  was  by  many  questions. 

"Good  thing  we  caught  those  youngsters,"  said 
Captain  Moore.  "You  did  well  not  to  fight,  and 
you  are  lucky  to  have  been  allowed  to  keep  your 
scalps.  We'll  take  care  of  you  till  morning." 

He  gave  orders  about  that,  and  then  he  turned  to 
Colonel  Evans. 

"No  need  for  you  to  hunt  for  your  horses  any 
farther,"  he  said.  "They  are  somewhere  in  Mexico. 
You  may  get  back  most  of  them,  I  think,  for  Kah- 
go-mish  has  about  as  many  as  he  knows  what  to  do 
with." 

"Horses!"  exclaimed  Colonel  Evans.  "I'm  not 
thinking  about  horses." 

"Cal  is  not  in  their  hands,"  said  the  captain.   "We 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  143 

must  hunt  for  him.  I  think,  too,  that  we  shall  find 
him.  It  is  not  my  duty  to  cross  the  boundary  line 
after  Colonel  Romero's  lost  mules." 

"Of  course  not.  Nor  for  mine  either.  Kah-go- 
mish  is  evidently  not  the  kind  of  red-skin  to  be  easily 
caught  by  anybody." 

"Perfect  old  fox!"  said  the  captain,  with  strong 
emphasis.  "But  then  he  has  the  boundary  line  to 
help  him." 

It  was  a  curious  fact,  but  the  three  Chiricahua 
scouts  considered  themselves  entirely  at  liberty  to 
feel  elated  at  the  victory  obtained  by  Apaches  of 
another  band  over  the  traditional  Mexican  enemies 
of  their  race. 

"Ugh !"  said  the  old  brave  to  Ping  and  Tah-nu-nu. 
"The-boy-whose-ear-pushed-away-a-piece-of-lead  is 
the  son  of  a  great  chief." 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

ACROSS  THE  DESERT   BY   NIGHT. 

evening  which  passed  under  such  remark- 
able  circumstances  in  the  neighborhood  of  Cold 
Spring  was  uncommonly  long  and  busy  at  the  Santa 
Lucia  ranch. 

Tallow  was  abundant  where  so  many  cattle  were 
raised  and  slaughtered  every  season,  and  Mrs.  Evans 
prided  herself  upon  her  skill  in  the  manufacture  of 
candles.  Whatever  other  comforts  of  life  in  the 
settlements  were  lacking  in  the  old  hacienda,  there 
was  always  plenty  of  illumination  after  nightfall. 
There  was  usually  but  a  short  time  for  candle-light 
in  June,  for  people  who  arose  so  soon  after  day 
light  were  accustomed  to  go  to  bed  early.  On  this 
particular  evening,  however,  the  parlor  wore  a  very 
brilliant  appearance  for  two  hours  longer  than 
ordinary. 

The  first  look  at  the  precious  things  brought  by 
the  tilted  wagon  had  been  only  a  look,  and  every 
article  had  to  undergo  another  inspection. 

All  were  dropped  at  last,  or,  rather,  there  they 
lay,  except  such  things  as  were  under  Norah  Mc- 
Lory's  care,  all  scattered  around  the  room. 

"I  can't  help  it,"  said  Mrs.  Evans;  "I  feel  uneasy 
about  Cal." 

144 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  145 

"So  do  I,  mother,"  said  Vic,  leaning  back  upon 
the  sofa;  "but  you  never  said  as  much  before." 

"Somehow  I  didn't  feel  so,  Vic;  but  it  seems  to 
me — Well,  I  do  wish  he  could  be  here,  looking  over 
his  new  books,  instead  of  away  out  there." 

"We  sha'n't  hear  from  him  for  ever  so  long,"  said 
Vic.  "All  sorts  of  things  might  happen  and  we  not 
know  it." 

Somehow  or  other,  as  the  talk  drifted  on,  the 
varied  assortment  with  which  the  floor  and  chairs 
were  littered  lost  its  charm.  Mrs.  Evans  even  got 
to  telling  stories  of  other  times  when  her  husband 
had  been  away  from  her.  She  had  more  than  once 
been  compelled  to  wait  long  for  news  of  him,  and 
had  heard  tidings  of  danger  before  anything  better 
came.  He  had  fought  his  way  out  of  perilous  cir 
cumstances,  and  her  eyes  kindled,  now  and  then,  as 
she  related  how.  Wah-wah-o-be  herself  was  not 
prouder  of  the  deeds  of  Kah-go-mish. 

Vic  listened,  but  her  imagination  was  a  little  out 
of  joint,  for  she  found  herself  unconsciously  putting 
Cal  in  his  father's  place.  She  knew  very  well  that 
he  could  not  pick  up  one  Indian  and  knock  over 
another  with  him,  as  Colonel  Abe  Evans  had  done 
upon  an  occasion  described  by  her  mother.  She  had 
altogether  more  confidence  in  the  heels  of  the  red 
mustang,  and  she  said  so. 

"I  hope  he  will  bring  Dick  back  safe  and  sound," 
she  said.  "He's  almost  one  of  the  family." 

"Cal  would  be  dreadfully  sorry  to  lose  him,"  said 
Mrs.  Evans.  "Come,  Vic,  I  don't  want  to  talk  any 
more." 

Neither  of  them  was  in  good  condition  for  going 


I46  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

to  sleep,  nevertheless,  and  it  may  be  that  their  eyes 
were  hardly  closed  when  those  of  Cal  were  opened 
at  the  summons  of  Dick  to  watch  the  moonlight  pro 
cession  in  the  chaparral. 

The  warrior  who  first  laid  a  hand  upon  the  rein 
of  the  red  mustang  did  so  with  a  loud  whoop.  Cal 
summoned  all  his  presence  of  mind  and  held  out  his 
right  hand. 

"How,"  he  said,  "good  friend." 

"Ugh!"  responded  the  savage.    "Heap  boy." 

No  violence  was  offered,  for  none  seemed  to  be 
called  for,  and  it  is  a  mistake  to  suppose  that  all  the 
instincts  and  customs  of  the  red  men  are  in  favor  of 
slaughter.  Just  now,  moreover,  the  clansmen  of 
Kah-go-mish  were  under  orders  of  mercy,  and  Cal 
was  led  on  at  once  to  the  presence  of  the  chief.  Dick 
was  led  with  him,  and  the  two  friends  stood  side  by 
side  in  front  of  the  distinguished  Mescalero.  He 
had  kept  on  his  cocked  hat,  and  Cal  thought  he  had 
never  before  seen  so  remarkable  a  figure,  especially 
by  moonlight. 

One  of  Cal's  accomplishments,  a  matter  of  course 
to  a  boy  with  Mexican  servants  in  his  own  house, 
was  a  good  acquaintance  with  Spanish,  and  it  helped 
out  the  chief's  English  in  the  questions  and  answers 
which  followed. 

Great  was  the  delight  of  Kah-go-mish.  He  and 
the  cowboy  commander  were  now  even.  Each  had 
a  son  of  the  other  as  a  sort  of  security,  and  all  the 
horses  gathered  upon  Slater's  Branch  seemed  more 
likely  to  remain  Apache  property. 

The  bugling  and  random  firing  among  the  bushes 
that  day  was  all  explained  now,  and  the  great  plan 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  147 

of  Kah-go-mish  looked  very  well  indeed.  It  was 
needful,  however,  to  put  a  goodly  distance  between 
him  and  the  blue-coats,  for  whose  conduct  he  had 
no  security  whatever. 

Cal's  weapons  were  taken  from  him,  and  he  was 
ordered  to  mount  and  ride.  He  at  once  explained 
that  neither  he  nor  Dick  had  tasted  water  since 
morning,  that  the  red  mustang  was  worth  several 
common  horses,  and  that  he  must  now  be  too  tired 
to  carry  a  rider.  As  for  himself,  he  had  slept,  was 
rested,  and  was  ready  to  travel. 

Water  was  scarce  in  the  band  of  Kah-go-mish  at 
that  time,  but  several  gourds  half  full  were  obtained 
by  the  chief.  He  proposed  to  treat  his  prisoner 
pretty  well,  and  was  willing  to  save  so  very  good  a 
pony. 

Cal  could  hardly  swallow  when  the  water  was 
brought  to  him.  Not  only  his  mouth  was  parched 
and  his  throat  husky,  but  his  very  heart  was  sick. 

He  had  heard  of  the  terrific  things  done  by 
Apaches  to  their  prisoners,  and  he  had  no  confidence 
at  all  in  the  present  appearance  of  good-will.  He 
had  not  been  told  of  Ping  and  Tah-nu-nu  in  his  own 
camp,  or  he  might  have  felt  better.  As  it  was,  he 
drank  a  little,  and  then  turned  his  attention  to  the 
red  mustang.  Only  a  small  part  of  what  Dick  was 
ready  for  could  be  given  him,  and  he  was  glad 
enough  when  his  downcast  master  divided  water- 
rations  with  him.  He  felt  better,  and  whinnied 
eagerly  for  more.  He  pawed  the  ground  and  looked 
around  to  see  if  anything  like  grass  or  corn  was  also 
forthcoming.  Nothing  of  the  kind  came,  but  a 
Mexican  pony  was  led  up,  Cal's  saddle  and  bridle 


148  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

were  transferred  to  him,  and  Dick  was  hitched  to  a 
long  lariat  by  which  several  other  quadrupeds  were 
being  led.  The  last  he  saw  of  Cal  that  night  was 
when  the  latter  rode  forward,  side  by  side  with  a 
very  lean-looking  brave  who  carried  a  long  lance, 
and  who  had  warned  Cal  that  it  would  be  used  at 
once  upon  any  attempt  to  escape.  Before  long 
the  entire  cavalcade  was  out  of  the  chaparral,  and 
Cal  noted  that  the  north  star  was  directly  behind 
him. 

"Down  into  Mexico,"  he  said  to  himself.  "It  will 
be  long  enough  before  I  see  Santa  Lucia  again." 

It  was  cooler  travelling  by  night  than  by  day,  but 
the  hard-baked  soil  sent  up  an  uncomfortable  amount 
of  heat,  and  it  was  only  now  and  then  that  even  a 
cactus  or  a  sage-bush  was  seen  along  the  dreary  way. 
One  of  the  captured  Mexican  horses  gave  out  and 
was  left  for  the  buzzards.  An  hour  later  an  old 
pony  which  had  travelled  all  the  way  from  the  Mes- 
calero  Reservation  was  unable  to  go  any  farther,  and 
he  too  lay  down. 

Cal  thought  of  Dick,  and  Dick  may  have  been 
thinking  of  him,  but  the  red  mustang  was  really  in 
need  of  nothing  but  grass  and  water.  He  had  no 
idea  whatever  of  giving  up,  and  there  were  no  mules 
tied  to  his  lariat  to  worry  him. 

Another  hour  went  by,  and  the  alkaline  sand  and 
gravel  of  the  desert  became  strewn  with  rocks, 
among  which  the  long  cavalcade  slowly  wound  its 
way.  There  was  no  straggling,  for  even  the  animals 
seemed  anxious  to  get  out  of  that  gloomy  region. 
The  moon  was  low  towards  the  horizon,  when  it 
suddenly  occurred  to  Cal  that  during  ten  or  fifteen 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  149 

minutes  he  had  seen  a  greater  number  of  scrubby 
bushes. 

"More  chaparral  coming?"  he  thought.  "Hope 
there's  a  spring  in  it,  somewhere.  Never  was  so 
awfully  thirsty  in  all  my  life." 

He  could  hardly  have  said  as  much  aloud,  for  his 
voice  seemed  to  have  dried  up.  He  was  hungry, 
too,  for  he  had  not  been  able  to  eat  much  of  the 
bit  of  cold,  half-cooked  beef  brought  to  him  by  Wah- 
wah-o-be  before  the  train  left  the  Cold  Spring  chap 
arral. 

Trees!  Yes,  right  and  left  of  them,  and  they 
were  a  pleasant  sight  to  see.  How  could  the  red 
men  have  found  any  place  in  particular,  by  night, 
across  that  trackless  plain? 

They  could  not,  and  they  had  not,  for  it  had  been 
no  part  of  the  plan  of  Kah-go-mish  to  leave  a  trail 
behind  him,  or  to  travel  by  any  old  road. 

Grass?  There  was  almost  a  thrill  at  Cal's  heart. 
A  temporary  halt  was  making,  and  he  saw  a  pony 
nibble  something  at  the  wayside.  It  must  be  that  the 
southern  edge  of  the  desert  had  been  reached  at  last. 

The  halt  had  been  made  for  purposes  of  explora 
tion.  Trees  and  grass  in  that  region  were  unmis 
takable  signs  of  water,  under  the  ground  or  above  it. 
Cal  sat  still  upon  the  pony  and  the  warrior  at  his  side 
was  as  motionless  as  a  statue.  All  around  them  was 
deep  and  sombre  shadow,  but  the  air  was  cooler,  and 
a  breeze  began  to  come  out  of  the  darkness  before 
them. 

Minutes  passed,  and  then  a  clear,  twice-repeated 
whoop  came  to  their  ears. 

"Ugh!"  said  the  lean  Apache,  with  evident  satis- 


1 50  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

faction.  "Heap  water.  Boy  drink  plenty  now.  Sun 
come,  tie  up  boy  and  make  fire  on  him.  How  boy 
like  fire?  Ugh!" 

Cal  could  make  no  reply  whatever,  except  by  a 
shudder,  and  they  once  more  rode  forward. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

AT  THE  RANCH  AND  IN  THE  CHAPARRAL. 

THERE  was  a  very  excellent  reason  why  the  old 
Spanish-Mexican  settler  had  chosen  that  exact 
spot  for  the  Santa  Lucia  ranch.  It  was  the  little 
spring  which  bubbled  up  in  the  middle  of  the  court 
yard  around  three  sides  of  which  the  adobe  was  con 
structed.  It  had  been  dug  out  to  a  depth  of  several 
feet  and  walled  in.  It  had  never  been  known  to  fail, 
and  it  always  had  enough  water  left,  after  supplying 
the  household,  to  furnish  a  tiny  rill  which  ran  away 
at  one  side  of  the  gate  in  the  palisades  of  the  fourth 
side.  This  rill  was  planked  over  until  it  got  away 
from  the  ranch,  but  it  ran  out  into  the  sunshine  then, 
and  travelled  gayly  on  to  the  corral.  Here  it  found 
a  number  of  acres  of  land,  surrounded  by  a  strong 
wire  fence.  It  also  found  a  long  hollow  to  fill  up 
with  water,  so  that  cattle  and  horses  corralled  there 
had  plenty  to  drink.  Except  in  the  winter  and  spring 
there  was  little  ever  heard  of  that  rill  beyond  the 
corral,  and,  if  shrubbery  had  at  any  time  grown  upon 
its  margin,  it  had  long  since  been  browsed  away,  for 
there  was  none  there  now. 

Beyond  the  corral  were  great  reaches  of  maize, 
and  there  had  this  year  been  no  drought  to  hurt  it. 
A  wide  patch  of  potatoes  and  some  oats  seemed  to 
be  the  only  other  attempt  at  anything  more  than 

151 


152  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

cattle-farming,  and  things  generally  had  the  bare, 
camplike  look  common  to  New  Mexican  ranches. 

Shortly  after  breakfast,  on  the  morning  after  the 
arrival  of  the  tilted  wagon,  Mrs.  Evans  and  Vic 
walked  out  on  what  appeared  to  be  a  tour  of  inspec 
tion.  They  had  not  slept  well,  and  there  was  just 
a  little  touch  of  feverishness  in  the  way  they  talked 
about  Cal  and  his  father,  but  they  were  trying  hard 
to  be  cheerful. 

"No,  Vic,"  said  Mrs.  Evans,  "it  won't  pay  to  put 
in  any  of  the  seeds  now,  but  I'm  glad  they've  come, 
and  I  don't  believe  they  will  spoil.  The  grape-roots 
and  cuttings  won't  get  here  till  autumn,  but  we'll 
have  the  vineyard  planted  over  there." 

"Is  there  really  to  be  a  barn,  mother?"  asked 
Vic,  doubtfully,  as  if  such  an  ornament  as  that  were 
almost  out  of  the  question. 

"Yes,  my  dear.  Your  father  loses  stock  enough, 
every  year,  to  pay  for  more  shelter,  and  for  keeping 
hay,  and  for  all  sorts  of  improvements." 

"To  think  of  a  vineyard  and  grapes  !" 

"And  fruit-trees,  Vic.  The  brook  is  to  be  fenced 
in  up  to  the  corral  and  lined  with  trees.  It  won't 
dry  up  so  easily  when  it's  shaded,  and  the  corral  is 
to  be  a  little  farther  away.  It  all  costs  money, 
though.  So  does  fencing." 

They  were  dreaming  dreams  of  the  future  and  of 
what  could  be  done  to  turn  Santa  Lucia  into  a  sort 
of  New  Mexican  Eden.  The  stockade  itself  was  to 
be  clambered  over  by  vines,  and  so  was  the  veranda, 
and  trees  were  to  be  coaxed  to  grow  in  all  directions. 
Bushes  and  plants  that  could  stand  the  summer  heats 
were  to  be  planted  all  around  the  ranch.  The  old 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  153 

adobe  itself  was  to  be  fixed  up.  It  was  a  very  pleas 
ant  way  of  spending  a  morning,  but  it  had  its  un 
pleasant  thought. 

"Vic,"  said  her  mother,  "there  are  a  great  many 
things  that  your  father  can't  afford  to  do,  if  he  is  to 
lose  all  those  horses." 

"He  has  plenty  left,  and  the  cattle." 

"Yes,  but  the  Indians  took  away  some  of  his  best 
stock." 

"The  Indians  wouldn't  be  so  likely  to  come,"  said 
Vic,  "if  everything  looked  more  settled." 

It  seemed  so,  and  there  was  truth  in  it,  only  the 
whole  truth  required  more  houses  near  by,  and  more 
men  to  defend  them. 

As  the  talk  turned  towards  the  Apaches  and  their 
deeds,  the  dream  of  vines  and  shrubbery  and  flowers, 
of  barns  and  stables,  dairy,  trees,  and  all  faded 
away,  and  they  walked  back  into  the  house,  wonder 
ing  anxiously  what  would  be  the  next  news  from 
those  who  had  gone  in  search  of  the  stolen  horses 
and  the  Apache  horse-thieves. 

Mrs.  Evans  and  Vic  were  not  one  bit  more  com 
pletely  in  the  dark,  that  morning,  than  were  Colonel 
Romero  and  his  lancers  and  his  rancheros.  They 
had  succeeded,  the  day  before,  in  following  the 
ancient  trail  until  it  brought  them  to  grass  and  water 
and  a  good  camping-ground.  It  had  not  shown 
them,  however,  one  track  or  trace  which  seemed  to 
have  been  made  in  modern  times.  If  Kah-go-mish 
and  his  band  had  come  that  way,  they  had  managed 
to  conceal  the  fact  remarkably  well.  Once  more  it 
was  easy  for  the  brave  colonel  and  his  officers  to  see 
their  duty  without  any  argument.  They  could  not 


154  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

go  any  farther,  if  they  would,  until  the  arrival  of 
the  pack-mules  and  the  led  horses.  They  could  not 
go  in  any  direction  until  they  knew  which  way  the 
Apaches  had  gone.  Therefore  they  must  rest  in 
that  camp,  and  send  out  scouts  and  trailers,  and  wait 
for  the  loads  of  supplies  and  for  information.  Their 
puzzle  was  ended  for  that  day,  at  least,  and  there 
were  trees  in  abundance  to  lie  down  under  and  take 
it  easy. 

The  men  in  the  bivouac,  at  Cold  Spring,  were 
astir  as  soon  as  the  daylight  began  to  come  the  next 
morning.  Colonel  Evans  was  the  first  man  upon  his 
feet. 

"I'll  find  him,"  he  said,  "if  I  have  to  search  the 
chaparral  inch  by  inch.  Poor  boy !  What  a  day  and 
night  he  must  have  had!  No  food,  no  water,  no 
hope  !  Lost  in  the  chaparral !" 

It  was  a  dreadful  thing  to  think  of,  and  the  next 
worst  idea  was  that  he  might  have  been  killed  by 
the  Apaches.  Everybody  in  camp  took  a  deep  in 
terest  in  the  proposed  search,  and  all  who  were  to 
join  in  it  were  willing  to  set  out  before  the  heat  of 
the  day  should  come.  Captain  Moore  had  a  number 
of  cautious  things  to  say  about  the  danger  from 
Indians  and  ambuscades,  but  he  evidently  believed, 
after  all,  that  Kah-go-mish  had  gone  away. 

"He  won't  run  any  useless  risk  of  losing  horses," 
said  the  captain.  "I  think,  on  the  whole,  we  can 
search  away." 

The  Mexicans  who  had  been  in  charge  of  the  lost 
pack-train  ate  their  breakfasts  in  a  hurry.  The  day's 
journey  before  them  seemed  dismal  enough,  for  they 
were  to  cross  the  desert  on  foot  to  report  the  work 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  155 

of  Kah-go-mish.  They  were  given  a  supply  of  pro 
visions,  but  there  were  no  horses  or  arms  for  them. 

"You  won't  meet  any  red-skins,"  said  Sam  Her- 
rick  to  a  very  melancholy  ranchero.  "They've  all 
gone  the  other  way.  You  can  make  better  time  on 
foot  than  you  could  a-driving  a  pack-mule.  You'll 
git  thar.  Give  the  colonel  my  compliments  and  tell 
him  that  old  Kah-go-mish  ort  to  just  love  him.  I 
never  heard  of  a  train  given  away  for  nothing 
before." 

The  ranchero  nodded  a  sullen  agreement  with 
Sam,  but  he  was  not  likely  to  give  the  message  accu 
rately  to  Colonel  Romero. 

The  poor  fellows  started  at  once,  with  a  plain 
enough  trail  to  follow,  and  Sam  looked  kindly  after 
them. 

"They're  in  luck,"  he  said.  "They've  nothing  to 
do  but  to  walk.  Not  even  a  mule  to  lead  or  a  fence 
to  climb.  Colorado!  But  didn't  old  Kah-go-mish 
make  a  clean  sweep." 

"Left  their  skelps  on  'em,"  said  Bill. 

"That  was  just  cunning,"  replied  Sam.  "Some 
redskins  haven't  sense  enough  to  let  a  skelp  alone, 
but  he  has." 

Only  a  little  later  the  sentries  and  pickets  posted 
by  Captain  Moore  were  all  the  human  beings  left  in 
the  camp  at  Cold  Spring.  They,  too,  were  hidden 
among  the  bushes,  and  the  proof  that  it  was  a  camp 
at  all  consisted  of  three  sacks  of  corn,  a  saddle,  some 
camp-kettles  and  coffee-pots,  and  the  smouldering 
camp-fires. 

The  bugles  began  to  send  their  music  out  over  the 
spider-web  wilderness  of  the  chaparral  west  of  the 


156  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

spring,  and  Captain  Moore  declared,  hopefully,  that 
if  Cal  were  anywhere  in  all  that  range  he  would  be 
sure  of  hearing  music  before  noon. 

The  trouble  was  that  he  was  so  many  long,  tire 
some  miles  beyond  the  reach  of  the  loudest  bugle, 
and  that  he  had  heard  music  of  an  altogether  differ 
ent  sort  before  the  very  earliest  riser  among  them 
had  opened  his  eyes. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

CAL'S  NIGHT  UNDER  A  TREE. 

THE  northern  edge  of  Mexico  was  marked  deeply 
by  the  surveyor's  chisel  upon  the  quartz  rock 
at  Cold  Spring.  All  the  country  north  and  south  of 
it  had  once  been  Apache  land.  Away  back,  nobody 
knows  how  long,  before  any  Apaches  had  ever  drank 
of  that  water,  the  entire  region  had  belonged  to 
another  race  of  people,  who  disappeared,  but  left 
traces  behind  them,  here  and  there.  They  did  not 
leave  any  written  history. 

There  are  men  who  hold  an  opinion  that  the 
deserts  of  the  southwest,  such  as  Cal  Evans  made  his 
gloomy  march  through  that  night,  were  not  always 
desert.  To  Cal  himself,  as  he  rode  along,  the  waste 
around  him  had  seemed  utterly  hopeless,  as  if  noth 
ing  good  ever  had  been  there  or  ever  could  be. 

After  the  desert  was  passed,  and  after  the  whoop 
which  announced  the  finding  of  water,  he  and  his 
grim  guard  rode  on  until  the  forest  around  them 
became  so  dark  that  they  and  all  others  were  com 
pelled  to  halt.  It  was  only  for  a  few  minutes,  and 
then  from  the  head  of  the  cavalcade  came  back 
braves  ind  squaws  and  boys  carrying  blazing  torches 
of  resinous  wood.  The  huge  tree-trunks  that  Cal 
now  rode  among  seemed  positively  gigantic.  No 
axe  had  been  at  work  in -that  place  for  an  age,  and 


158  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

there  was  only  a  moderate  amount  of  underbrush. 
What  bushes  could  be  seen  were  mostly  gathered 
around  and  over  the  decaying  trunks  of  fallen  trees, 
and  it  was  easy  for  the  train  to  pick  its  winding  way. 

Before  long  Cal  saw  ahead  of  him  great  gleams 
of  light,  for  the  Apaches  were  kindling  camp-fires, 
and  there  was  an  abundance  of  dry  branches  to  make 
swift  blazes. 

The  next  thing  of  particular  interest  to  him  was 
a  portly-looking  squaw,  who  wore  a  somewhat  bat 
tered  straw  bonnet,  very  much  mixed  up  with  gay 
ribbons.  She  seemed  to  be  looking  for  somebody, 
and  she  carried  in  one  hand  a  large  water-gourd  and 
in  the  other  a  flaming  torch. 

"Ugh !"  she  said,  as  she  came  to  the  side  of  Cal's 
pony.  "Boy  heap  dry.  Want  water?" 

"Thank  you  !  Thank  you !"  exclaimed  Cal,  as  he 
reached  out  for  the  gourd,  and  his  voice  sounded  as 
if  he  had  a  bad  cold  in  his  head. 

It  was  not  a  cold  by  any  means,  but  a  sort  of 
fever,  as  if  a  sandy  desert  were  beginning  to  form 
inside  of  him.  He  drank  and  drank  again,  and 
then  passed  the  gourd  to  the  lean  Apache  beside 
him. 

"Ugh!"  was  all  the  immediate  response  to  his 
politeness,  but  something  said  to  Wah-wah-o-be  in 
Apache  brought  back  a  rapidly  spoken  and  seem 
ingly  resentful  response.  The  chief's  wife  was 
plainly  not  at  all  afraid  of  that  warrior. 

"Boy  eat,  by  and  by,"  she  said  to  Cal,  as  he 
handed  her  back  the  gourd,  and  he  was  encouraged 
to  ask  her  a  question. 

"Do  you  know  what  they  have  done  with  my 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  159 

pony?"  he  said.     "I  want  him  to  have  some  water^ 
but  not  too  much,  right  away." 

"Ugh!"  she  said.  "Heap  pony!"  for  she  had 
taken  more  than  one  look  at  a  horse  which  she  de 
clared  to  be  the  right  kind  of  a  mount  for  The-boy- 
whose-ear-pushed-away-a-piece-of-lead.  Cal  repeated 
his  question  in  Spanish  before  he  was  understood, 
and  Wah-wah-o-be  promised  care  for  Dick.  She  did 
not  add,  however,  that  the  care  was  to  be  given  on 
account  of  the  absent  Ping. 

The  red  mustang  had  a  right  to  consider  that  he 
had  been  a  patient  pony,  under  trying  circumstances, 
but  his  relief  came  at  last.  A  fat  squaw  came  to 
him,  followed  by  a  boy  a  little  older  than  Cal  and 
not  resembling  him  in  any  way,  and  they  unhitched 
Dick  from  his  place  in  the  train.  They  led  him  on 
among  the  trees  until  they  came  to  the  edge  of  a 
small,  slowly  running  stream  of  water,  and  here  they 
let  him  drink  about  a  quarter  as  much  as  Dick 
thought  would  be  good  for  him. 

"No  kill  him,"  said  Wah-wah-o-be.  "Pony  eat  a 
heap.  Drink  more  then." 

Dick  was  led  on  after  that  until  he  came  to  a 
grassy  open,  where  the  moonlight  showed  him  a 
large  number  of  quadrupeds  of  various  ranks  in  life. 
All  were  picketed  at  lariat-ends,  but  some  of  them 
had  lain  down  at  once,  while  others,  in  better  spirits, 
had  begun  to  nibble  the  grass.  Dick  was  also  pick 
eted,  and  he  tried  the  grass  for  a  while.  Then  he 
concluded  that  he  had  done  enough  for  one  day  and 
night,  and  he,  too,  lay  down,  but  he  would  have  been 
all  the  more  comfortable  for  a  few  words  from  his 
master  and  a  good  rubbing  down. 


160  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

Cal's  uncertainty  as  to  what  was  to  become  of  him 
was  not  at  all  relieved  by  his  next  experiences.  To 
be  sure  he  was  guided  onward  to  a  place  under  the 
trees,  not  far  from  one  of  the  camp-fires,  and  was 
ordered  to  dismount.  More  water  was  brought  to 
him  and  a  liberal  piece  of  broiled  venison.  He  ate 
well,  now,  but  all  the  soreness  at  his  heart  seemed 
to  have  worked  out  into  his  muscles.  He  was  dread 
fully  weary.  He  felt  too  badly  to  care  a  copper 
when  he  saw  his  saddle  and  bridle  taken  from  the 
pony  he  had  ridden.  They  were  carried  away  by  the 
fat  squaw  who  had  brought  him  the  water.  He  had 
caught  her  name  of  Wah-wah-o-be  from  her  own  re 
marks,  but  he  did  not  catch  the  other  name  she 
uttered,  with  a  motherly  chuckle,  when  she  took 
possession  of  the  saddle  and  bridle.  It  was  a  very 
long  name,  and  was  accompanied  by  expressions  of 
strong  admiration  for  the  boy  it  belonged  to.  The 
one  thing  which  Cal  clearly  comprehended  was,  that 
if  he  was  ever  to  ride  again  he  would  probably 
mount  some  other  steed  than  Dick  and  hold  some 
other  bridle. 

His  head  was  too  weary  and  too  busy  to  take 
much  note  of  things  around  him  then,  but  he  after 
wards  remembered  how  wonderful  it  all  looked. 
The  scattered  camp-fires  were  surrounded  by  wild, 
strange-looking  figures,  and  by  groups  that  were  the 
wilder  and  the  stranger  the  more  figures  there  were 
in  them.  The  firelight  danced  among  the  giant  trees 
and  through  the  long  vines  which  clung  to  them  or 
hung  from  their  branches.  The  great  shadows 
seemed  to  make  motions  to  each  other,  now  and  then, 
and  it  was  altogether  a  very  remarkable  picture. 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  161 

Cal  was  beginning  to  feel  sleepy,  when  out  from 
among  the  shadows  marched  the  chief  in  the  cocked 
hat  and  red  stocking-leg  uniform,  followed  by  four 
other  dignified  warriors. 

"Ugh !"  he  said.    "How  boy  now?    Eat  heap?" 

"Yes,  thank  you,"  said  Cal.    "How  ?" 

"Ugh!  Good!"  said  the  Apache  leader,  as  Cal 
slowly  arose  and  stood  in  front  of  him,  but  he  did 
not  shake  the  hand  Cal  offered  him. 

He  turned  to  the  other  great  men,  and  they  ex 
changed  a  few  sentences  in  their  own  tongue.  They 
were  hearing  further  explanations  of  the  plan  he  had 
formed  for  the  general  good,  and  they  nodded  a 
cheerful  assent  when  he  ended  with,  "Kah-go-mish 
is  a  great  chief." 

They  turned  and  stalked  away,  and  with  them 
went  the  lean,  grim  Apache  who  had  hitherto  been 
Cal's  guard,  and  who  had  latterly  seemed  to  be  get 
ting  almost  like  a  friendly  acquaintance.  His  place 
was  filled  by  a  pair  of  short,  bow-legged,  swarthy 
old  braves,  whom  Cal  set  down  as  the  unpleasantest- 
looking  Indians  he  had  ever  seen. 

Very  quickly  the  prisoner  had  good  reasons  for  an 
every  way  more  severe  opinion  of  his  new  guards. 
They  were  under  strict  orders  to  prevent  his  escape, 
and  no  other  especial  directions  had  been  given 
them.  Of  course  they  proposed  to  perform  their 
sentry  duty  with  as  little  trouble  and  as  complete 
security  as  might  be.  Cal  was  lying  upon  the 
ground,  while  they  were  busy  with  their  knives 
among  the  nearest  bushes.  He  hardly  looked  after 
them,  for  his  thoughts  were  wandering  to  the  camp 
at  Cold  Spring  and  to  the  faces  of  those  who  had 


1 62  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

talked  so  much  about  him,  all  that  evening,  in  the 
parlor  at  Santa  Lucia.  He  had  not  the  remotest 
dream  of  the  precise  experience  which  was  coming 
to  him.  The  two  ill-looking  braves  returned,  and 
one  of  them  had  a  handful  of  forked  branches, 
trimmed  and  pointed.  They  turned  Cal  over  upon 
his  back  and  stretched  out  his  arms.  A  sharp  thrill 
went  through  him  as  he  began  to  comprehend  what 
they  were  doing.  Thrill  followed  thrill  as  they  drove 
one  forked  stick  into  the  ground  over  each  wrist, 
and  another  over  each  ankle. 

"Ugh  I"  exclaimed  one  of  them.    "No  get  away !" 
"I  am  staked  out!"  said  Cal  to  himself,  huskily. 
"Staked  out!" 

Well  might  the  cold  shivers  come  with  that  ter 
rible  thought,  for  he  had  read  of  that  method  of 
securing  prisoners  and  of  what  sometimes  followed 
it.  Staked  out  in  the  depths  of  a  Mexican  forest ! 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

A  STRANGE  LETTER  FROM  MEXICO. 

PING  and  Tah-nu-nu  had  not  been  staked  out  that 
first  night  after  their  capture.  Precisely  how  to 
keep  them  safely,  yet  humanely,  had  at  first  been  a 
puzzle. 

"If  they  once  got  away  into  the  brush,"  said  Sam 
Herrick,  "you  might  as  well  hunt  for  a  pair  of  sage- 
hens,  and  they'd  about  die  before  they'd  be  caught 
again.  The  boy's  a  game  little  critter,  and  the  gal's 
got  an  eye  like  a  hawk." 

It  was  decided  that  they  must  be  tied  up,  but  it 
was  so  done  as  to  inflict  very  little  hardship.  A 
thong  of  hide,  knotted  hard,  so  that  nothing  but  a 
knife  could  undo  the  knot,  connected  an  arm  of  each 
captive  with  a  stout  arm  of  a  mesquit  bush,  close  to 
the  sharp-eyed  sentinel  at  the  head  of  the  widest 
path. 

There  was  no  danger  of  any  escape,  and  both  Ping 
and  his  sister  were  wiser  and  tamer  than  Sam  gave 
them  credit  for.  They  understood  the  kindness  of 
Colonel  Evans  better  and  better  every  time  they 
looked  at  the  little  mirrors  or  the  stunning  hand 
kerchiefs.  They  were  also  aware  that  the  Apache 
band  had  left  the  chaparral,  for  the  message  brought 
from  Kah-go-mish  by  the  Mexicans  had  been  trans- 

163 


1 64  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

lated  to  them  carefully.  Their  night  was,  therefore, 
not  at  all  uncomfortable. 

When  the  cavalry  and  cowboys  set  out  to  hunt 
for  Cal  in  the  morning,  the  old  Chiricahua  volun 
teered  to  act  as  guard  while  they  were  gone.  It  was 
almost  as  if  he  had  taken  a  fancy  to  Ping  and  Tah- 
nu-nu,  or  it  may  have  been  that  Sam  was  correct  in 
saying,  "The  old  wolf'd  rather  loaf  under  a  bush 
and  spin  yarns  than  hunt  through  the  chaparral 
under  this  kind  of  sunshine." 

Loaf  he  did,  in  seemingly  contented  patience;  and 
he  had  yarns  to  spin,  as  if  he  had  been  Wah-wah- 
o-be.  Not  a  few  of  them  related  to  old-time  fights 
which  had  been  fought  around  that  very  spring,  in 
and  out  of  the  chaparral.  Some  of  his  stories  were 
of  a  dreadfully  blood-curdling  kind,  but  they  hardly 
seemed  sensational  to  Ping  and  Tah-nu-nu.  Perhaps 
the  story  which  interested  Ping  most  was  a  long  one 
of  a  strong  party  of  an  unknown,  nameless  tribe 
from  beyond  the  Eastern  Sierras.  They  were  tall 
braves,  almost  black,  and  they  came  all  this  distance 
to  strike  the  Apaches. 

The  strangers  camped  one  night  at  Cold  Spring, 
and  in  the  morning  they  found  themselves  penned  in 
by  overwhelming  numbers  of  Apaches,  who  poured 
forth  from  the  chaparral  by  every  path  except  one. 
That  was  a  path  which  the  Apache  chiefs  did  not 
know  or  had  overlooked.  They  and  their  warriors 
swarmed  in  upon  the  strangers,  expecting  to  destroy 
them  all,  and  there  was  a  terrible  battle  for  a  little 
time.  Then,  to  the  astonishment  of  all  the  Apaches, 
the  Eastern  war-party  grew  smaller  and  smaller,  re 
treating  across  the  rock.  It  left  the  spring  behind, 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  165 

and  dwindled  away,  fighting  hard  all  the  while.  It 
was  dripping  out,  so  to  speak,  through  the  path  in 
the  chaparral  that  nobody  knew  anything  about. 
The  Apache  warriors  fought  wonderfully  to  prevent 
that  escape,  and  hundreds  hurried  around  through 
the  chaparral  to  attack  the  strangers  in  the  rear  and 
to  cut  off  their  retreat.  It  was  of  no  use  at  all,  said 
the  old  Chiricahua. 

As  soon  as  the  last  of  the  strangers  fired  his  last 
arrow  from  the  mouth  of  that  old  buffalo-path  it 
seemed  to  close  up,  and  the  Apaches  could  not  find  it. 
They  never  could,  nor  did  they  ever  succeed  in  find 
ing  where  it  led  to,  for  the  strange  warriors  escaped 
entirely,  just  as  if  they  had  crawled  into  the  spring. 
It  was  "very  great  medicine,"  he  said,  and  nothing 
at  all  like  it  had  been  heard  of  since  then.  He  him 
self  knew  all  the  paths  now  to  be  found  around 
Cold  Spring,  and  all  of  them  led  out  into  the  desert. 

Thanks  to  the  Chiricahua,  Ping  and  Tah-nu-nu 
had  a  fairly  comfortable  morning  of  it.  They  even 
grew  curious,  instead  of  frightened,  concerning  what 
was  next  to  come  to  them. 

The  old  Chiricahua  did  not  spend  all  his  time 
stretched  out  upon  the  sand.  He  arose  and  walked 
around  as  if  the  hot  sunshine  agreed  with  him,  and 
exchanged  remarks  with  the  white  camp-guard  in 
their  sultry  covert. 

Ping  and  Tah-nu-nu  stared  around  the  open  with 
a  deepening  interest  in  a  spot  which  had  so  wonder 
ful  a  history.  Across  it,  on  the  opposite  side,  was 
one  dense  mass  of  chaparral,  many  yards  in  length, 
through  which  no  opening  appeared.  In  the  middle 
of  it  arose  a  giant  cactus,  with  a  trunk  like  that  of 


1 66  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

a  tree,  and  with  two  enormously  thick,  long  arms 
reaching  out  near  the  top.  One  leaf  pointed  south 
and  the  other  north,  as  if  the  cactus  were  a  directing- 
post.  Right  there,  they  agreed,  after  some  discus 
sion,  must  have  been  the  mysterious  path  that  opened 
to  let  out  the  strange  warriors,  and  then  shut  again. 

Noon  came,  and  the  Chiricahua  brought  them 
some  army  bread,  some  fried  bacon,  and  some  coffee. 
They  had  tasted  such  things  before,  when  their  band 
was  at  the  Reservation,  and  they  had  some  for 
breakfast,  but  it  was  very  wonderful  to  taste  them 
again. 

"Pale-face  chief  make  Ping  a  blue-coat,"  said  Tah- 
au-nu.  "Eat  a  heap." 

"Tah-nu-nu  squaw  for  blue-coat  chief,"  said  Ping. 
"Have  big  lodge.  Cook  his  meat.  Hoe  his  corn. 
Feed  pony.  Beat  her  with  big  stick.  Ugh  !" 

They  could  rally  one  another  about  the  prospect 
before  them,  but  Ping  stoutly  declared  that  he  would 
run  away  at  the  first  opportunity.  He  would  be  a 
chief  of  his  own  people  and  not  of  any  other.  Tah- 
nu-nu  as  positively  asserted  her  horror  of  ever  be 
coming  the  wife  of  the  greatest  pale-face  living.  Not 
if  he  gave  ever  so  many  ponies  for  her,  like  a  wyar- 
rior  of  the  Apaches. 

Two  hours  later  the  cavalry  squads  and  the  cow 
boys  began  to  straggle  back  to  the  spring.  Their 
horses  needed  water  and  food  and  rest,  and  so  did 
they.  Hot,  weary,  disappointed,  was  the  appearance 
of  every  man  who  came  in,  but  none  of  them  wore 
such  a  face  as  did  Colonel  Evans.  He  drank  some 
water,  but  he  did  not  eat  nor  did  he  speak  to  any 
body. 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  167 

"Ugh!"  said  Ping.  "No  find  boy.  Heap  pony 
lose  too.  Bad  medicine." 

It  was  only  a  little  later  when  something  remark 
able  happened  to  a  picket  in  a  path  of  the  southern 
chaparral.  He  stood  by  his  horse  ready  to  mount, 
as  was  his  duty,  but  he  was  very  sure  that  no  Indians 
were  around,  and  he  only  now  and  then  gave  a  list 
less  glance  along  the  path.  Suddenly,  within  twenty 
yards  of  him,  an  Indian  stepped  out  of  the 
bushes. 

"Halt !"  sprang  to  the  lips  of  the  startled  soldier, 
but  the  Indian  held  up  both  hands,  empty,  above  his 
head,  to  show  that  he  carried  no  weapons. 

The  challenge  was  heard  by  the  men  around  the 
spring,  and  they  sprang  to  their  feet,  while  others 
came  out  of  the  bushes.  A  dozen  rifles  were  ready 
behind  the  picket  as  the  solitary  Indian  came  for 
ward.  He  wore  nothing  but  a  waist-cloth,  and  from 
the  belt  of  this  he  drew  something  which  he  held  out 
and  offered. 

"Take  it,  Brady,"  said  the  voice  of  Captain 
Moore.  "Bring  him  in.  He's  a  messenger  of  some 
kind." 

The  cavalryman  took  it,  but  it  was  nothing  more 
than  a  leathery  cactus  leaf,  as  wide  as  a  stretched- 
out  hand. 

"How,"  said  the  Indian.    "Kah-go-mish." 

"That's  it,"  exclaimed  Sam  Herrick.  "I  reckoned 
we'd  hear  from  him.  Colorado !" 

The  leaf  was  passed  to  Captain  Moore,  and  the 
Apache  brave  followed  him,  but  only  as  far  as  the 
end  of  that  pathway.  There  he  stood,  and  seemed 
almost  like  a  wooden  Indian.  He  saw  both  Ping 


1 68  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

and  Tah-nu-nu,  and  they  saw  him,  but  if  they  knew 
him  they  did  not  say  so. 

"They  thought  nobody  saw  'em,  but  they  were 
making  signs,"  said  Sam;  and  the  old  Chiricahua 
muttered,  "Ugh !  Good !"  as  if  he  had  understood 
something. 

Just  at  that  moment  Captain  Moore  met  Colonel 
Evans. 

"Read  that,"  he  said,  as  he  held  out  the  cactus 
leaf. 

There  were  letters  deeply  scratched  into  the 
smooth,  fleshy  surface. 

Father  I'm  a  Prisoner  to  Kah-Go-Mish  Staked  out  last 
night  Safe  now  Don't  know  where  he  means  to  go  next 
He  says  you  will  hear  some  day 

CAL 
Send  mother  my  love. 

It  was  a  wonderful  cactus  leaf,  for  it  made  the 
strong  hand  of  Colonel  Abe  Evans  shake  so  that  he 
could  hardly  hold  it.  Every  pair  of  eyes  around 
Cold  Spring  stared  at  it  and  at  him,  and  when  they 
once  more  turned  to  look  at  the  Apache  brave  who 
had  brought  it  he  was  not  to  be  seen.  He  had  van 
ished  as  if  he  had  been  a  dream. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 
CAL'S  VISITORS  AND  HIS  BREAKFAST. 

EVEN  when  he  was  lost  in  the  chaparral,  and  saw 
the  sun  go  down  without  any  hope  of  escaping 
from  the  spider-web  of  buffalo-paths,  Cal  had  not 
felt  quite  so  badly  as  he  did  when  he  found  himself 
staked  out.  There  he  lay  upon  his  back  under  the 
vast  canopy  of  an  ancient  cypress-tree.  Near  him 
the  two  uncouth-looking  Apaches  had  thrown  them 
selves  upon  the  grass.  They  seemed  to  be  asleep 
pretty  soon,  for  there  was  no  more  need  of  their 
watching  the  prisoner. 

Get  away? 

He  could  move  his  hands  and  feet  just  enough  to 
keep  the  blood  in  circulation,  and  that  was  all.  He 
could  turn  his  head  and  look  at  the  glow  of  the 
camp-fires  and  at  the  forms  of  men  that  now  and 
then  went  stalking  to  and  fro.  They  were  only  dog- 
soldier  Indian  police  in  charge  of  the  camp,  for  the 
remainder  of  the  band  was  taking  all  the  sleep  it 
could  get.  Even  the  dogs  were  entirely  quiet.  If 
he  looked  up,  there  was  nothing  but  a  dense  mass  of 
foliage,  but  it  began  at  a  height  of  fifty  feet  or  more 
from  the  ground.  Great  branches  reached  out,  and 
from  these  hung  long  ropes  of  vines  of  some  sort, 
here  and  there,  to  the  very  ground.  There  was  no 

169 


170  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

opening  through  which  a  star  could  be  seen,  and  it 
seemed  to  Cal  as  if  his  last  hope  had  departed. 

The  position  of  a  staked-out  man  is  peculiarly  un 
comfortable,  but  it  is  the  traditional  method  of  the 
red  men  for  securing  captives.  The  Hurons  and 
Shawnees  and  Iroquois,  and  other  eastern  tribes, 
made  a  forest-jail  in  precisely  the  same  way  before 
any  white  men  ever  came  among  them.  Cal  found 
that  it  was  a  great  affliction  not  to  be  able  to  turn 
over  in  bed,  but  that  was  nothing  to  the  torment  of 
having  a  mosquito  on  his  chin,  another  on  his  nose, 
and  ten  more  humming  around  his  head  on  all  sides, 
with  no  hand  loose  to  slap  among  them.  He  almost 
ceased  thinking  of  Indian  cruelties  while  suffering 
the  merciless  torments  of  those  insects.  Tired  as  he 
was,  he  felt  no  longer  any  inclination  to  sleep.  His 
eyes  grew  accustomed  to  the  dimness  about  him  and 
over  him.  As  he  looked  up  into  the  branches  of  the 
tree,  after  a  while,  he  heard  a  strange,  mournful 
cry,  very  much  like  something  that  he  had  listened 
to  before,  and  then  something  whitish  and  wide- 
winged  came  sweeping  down  from  the  darkness,  and 
his  eyes  followed  it  as  it  swiftly  shot  across  the  camp. 

"Owl,  I  guess,"  groaned  Cal.  "Never  saw  one  so 
large  before.  White  owl.  What  a  hoot  he  had! 
Oh,  my  nose!  These  are  the  biggest  kind  of 
mosquitoes." 

So  they  were,  and  they  kept  their  victim  in  con 
tinual  misery.  It  was  not  long  before  he  saw  some 
thing  else,  not  so  large  as  the  owl,  fly  very  silently 
past  him.  It  went  and  came  several  times,  with  a 
peculiarly  rapid  flight,  and  he  had  pretty  fair 
glimpses  of  it. 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  171 

"What  an  enormous  bat !"  exclaimed  Cal.  "They 
have  almost  everything  down  here.  What  I'm  most 
afraid  of  are  scorpions  and  centipedes  and  taran 
tulas.  Such  woods  as  these  must  have  lots  of  'em, 
and  I  couldn't  get  away." 

They  were  dreadful  things  to  think  of,  but  Cal 
had  not  remembered  all  of  the  customary  inhabitants 
of  a  Mexican  forest.  He  was  put  in  mind  of  yet  one 
more  after  a  while.  He  heard  a  rustling  sound 
among  the  grass  and  leaves  near  him,  and  it  made 
him  lift  his  head  as  high  as  he  could.  Just  then 
something  else  lifted  its  head,  and  Cal  saw  a  pair  of 
small,  glittering,  greenish  eyes  that  travelled  right 
along  at  a  few  inches  above  the  ground.  The  cold 
sweat  broke  out  all  over  him,  but  he  held  perfectly 
still. 

"They  don't  bite  if  you  don't  stir  or  provoke 
them,"  was  the  thought  in  his  mind;  but  that  snake 
was  not  of  the  biting,  venomous  kind.  It  was  only 
a  constrictor,  not  more  than  seven  or  eight  feet  long, 
and  only  three  inches  thick  at  his  thickest  point.  He 
was  in  no  hurry,  and  it  seemed  to  Cal  as  if  it  took 
him  about  half  an  hour,  or  half  a  century,  he  could 
not  tell  which,  to  crawl  across  the  pair  of  legs  which 
the  Apaches  had  pinned  down.  It  was  really  about 
a  quarter  of  a  minute. 

Cal  had  no  idea  how  hard  he  had  been  straining 
at  his  fetters,  spurred  by  the  mosquitoes.  He  made 
an  unintentional  jerk  with  his  right  arm  as  the  snake 
disappeared,  and  was  startled  by  a  discovery. 

"Loose?"  he  said  to  himself.  "Then  I  can  loosen 
it  more.  I  won't  disturb  either  of  those  fellows,  but 
I  must  scratch  these  mosquito-bites." 


172  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

A  pull,  another  pull,  and  that  forked  stick  began 
to  come  up,  for  one  of  its  legs  had  been  put  down 
in  a  gopher's  hole,  and  had  no  holding.  Out  it 
came,  slowly,  softly,  and  Cal's  right  hand  was  free 
to  reach  over  and  help  his  left.  That  stake  was  hard 
pulling,  but  it  came  up  at  last,  and  then  the  ankles 
could  be  set  free. 

"I'll  drive  them  all  down  again  hard,"  said  Cal  to 
himself,  and  he  did  so. 

"Let  them  wonder  how  I  got  out,"  he  added;  "but 
there  isn't  any  use  in  my  trying  to  run  away.  They'd 
only  catch  me  and  kill  me  at  once." 

He  rose  to  his  feet,  and  it  occurred  to  him  that 
his  safest  place  might  be  by  one  of  the  smouldering 
camp-fires.  The  short  June  night  was  nearly  over, 
and  the  dawn  was  in  the  tree-tops  when  Cal  walked 
away  from  the  shadow  of  the  great  cypress.  He 
had  a  sort  of  desperate  feeling,  and  it  made  him 
singularly  cool  and  steady.  He  did  not  meet  any 
body  on  his  way.  His  first  discovery,  as  he  drew 
near  the  fire,  was  that  the  Apaches  had  found  plenti 
ful  supplies  in  the  packs  of  the  Mexican  mules.  They 
knew  how  to  make  coffee,  too,  for  there  was  a  big 
tin  coffee-pot  nearly  full.  Cal  put  it  upon  some 
coals  to  heat,  and  then  he  saw  a  tin  cup  lying  on  the 
ground,  a  box  of  sugar,  a  piece  of  bacon,  and  a  frag 
ment  of  coarse  corn-cake. 

"That'll  do,"  he  said  to  himself.  "I  may  as  well 
eat." 

The  coffee  boiled  quickly,  and  Cal  sat  with  a  cup 
of  it  in  one  hand,  while  with  the  other  he  held  a  stick 
with  a  slice  of  bacon  at  the  fire  end  of  it.  He  did 
not  know  what  was  happening  under  the  cypress. 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  173 

One  wrinkle-faced  brave  opened  his  beady  black 
eyes  and  looked  at  the  place  where  the  staked-out 
captive  had  been.  The  mocking  smile  he  had  begun 
flitted  away  from  his  lips. 

"Ugh !"  he  exclaimed  as  he  sprang  up  and  kicked 
his  comrade,  and  in  an  instant  more  two  dreadfully 
puzzled  Apaches  were  examining  the  forked  stakes 
which  ought  to  have  had  a  white  boy's  wrists  and 
ankles  in  them.  Hard  driven  into  the  ground  were 
all  four,  but  the  white  boy?  Where  was  he? 

"Heap  bad  medicine  1"  exclaimed  one  brave,  al 
most  despairingly. 

"Boy  heap  gone,"  said  the  other. 

They  looked  in  all  directions,  but  the  last  refuge 
they  dreamed  of  was  the  camp-fire  where  Cal  was 
sitting. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

THE  POST-BOY  THAT  GOT  AWAY. 

/COLONEL  ROMERO  and  most  of  his  com- 
V_>  mand  spent  the  greater  part  of  the  day  after 
Cal's  capture  in  waiting  for  the  pack-mule  train. 
Some  went  out  after  game  and  did  very  well,  and 
others  went  to  hunt  for  signs  of  the  Apaches  of 
Kah-go-mish  and  did  not  do  well  at  all.  The  rest, 
officers,  cavalry,  and  rancheros,  did  nothing,  and 
they  all  seemed  to  know  how. 

Right  away  after  breakfast,  and  before  the  search 
for  Cal  began,  the  dozen  rancheros  who  no  longer 
had  any  pack-mules  to  lead  left  Cold  Spring  behind 
them.  Out  they  marched,  under  careful  directions, 
for  the  way  given  them  by  Sam  Herrick  and  the 
Chiricahuas.  They  certainly  marched  well,  but  it 
was  in  dejected,  disgusted  silence.  Kah-go-mish,  and, 
after  him  and  his  Apaches,  Colonel  Romero  and  his 
horsemen,  had  trampled  the  old  trail  into  a  very  new 
and  plain  one,  easy  to  follow.  It  was  well  for  the 
peace  of  mind  of  the  train-guard  without  any  train 
that  it  was  so,  for  to  be  lost  was  for  them  to  be 
starved,  since  they  had  not  so  much  as  a  bow  and 
arrows  to  kill  a  jackass  rabbit.  Not  one  of  them 
now  wore  a  hat,  as  the  braves  of  Kah-go-mish  had 
imitated  their  chief,  so  far  as  a  dozen  Mexican  som 
breros  went.  There  was  no  danger,  however,  that 

174 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  175 

the  rancheros  would  get  themselves  tanned  any 
darker.  They  pushed  on  steadily  across  the  desert, 
and  at  about  the  time  when  the  dispirited  Americans 
who  searched  for  Cal  in  the  bushes  gave  it  up  and 
returned  to  Cold  Spring  there  was  a  great  shout  in 
the  camp  of  Colonel  Romero.  All  the  waiting  for 
pack-mules  and  supplies  was  over,  but  the  muleteers 
had  arrived,  disarmed,  hatless,  and  on  foot. 

The  colonel  and  every  other  soul  in  the  camp  said 
as  much  as  they  knew  how  to  say  concerning  the 
cunning,  daring,  impudence,  and  wickedness  of  all 
Apaches,  and  particularly  of  Kah-go-mish. 

The  message  of  the  chief  to  the  colonel  was  pretty 
fully  given,  leaving  out  some  of  the  animals,  birds, 
and  insects  he  had  put  into  it,  and  a  council  of  war 
was  called  to  consider  the  matter. 

The  council  was  unanimous.  Without  the  sup 
plies  that  had  been  lost  it  was  out  of  the  question  to 
chase  Apaches.  Without  a  good  guess  as  to  pre 
cisely  where  Kah-go-mish  had  gone,  they  knew  that 
he  was  away  beyond  the  desert  somewhere,  either  in 
Mexico  or  the  United  States,  and  they  might  as  well 
give  him  up.  It  was  therefore  decided  that  all  pos 
sible  hunting  and  fishing  should  be  done  at  once,  and 
that  the  entire  command  must  find  its  way  to  the 
nearest  Mexican  settlements  as  fast  as  it  could  go. 

So  far  as  Colonel  Romero's  Mexicans  were  con 
cerned  Kah-go-mish  already  felt  pretty  safe,  but  he 
was  by  no  means  sure  what  other  forces  of  the  same 
nation  might  or  might  not  be  out  in  search  of  him. 

As  for  the  blue-coats  and  cowboys,  the  chief  knew 
something  about  a  boundary  line.  There  was  one 
around  the  Mescalero  Reservation,  and  he  had 


176  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

broken  it,  but  he  was  sure  that  pale-faces  never  did 
such  "bad  medicine."  He  was  safe  from  the  Amer 
icans  until  he  should  see  fit  to  re-enter  the  United 
States.  That  is,  however,  that  he  was  proud  to  feel 
and  say  that  so  great  a  chief  as  himself  could  not 
long  be  entirely  safe  anywhere.  Too  many  army- 
men  wanted  to  see  him. 

In  the  camp  at  Cold  Spring,  Colonel  Evans  and 
all  his  friends  felt  that  they  would  give  a  great  deal 
to  know  the  exact  circumstances  under  which  Cal 
had  written  his  cactus-leaf  letter.  It  passed  from 
hand  to  hand,  for  every  man  to  take  a  look  at  it. 
The  cavalry  company  was  short  of  officers,  not  hav 
ing  brought  along  even  one  lieutenant.  The  orderly 
sergeant,  therefore,  was  the  man  next  in  rank  to  the 
captain,  but  there  was  another  sergeant  and  two 
corporals,  and  they  each  had  much  more  to  say  than 
could  rightly  have  been  said  by  mere  private  soldiers. 

All  agreed  that  it  was  a  remarkable  letter;  all 
were  glad  to  hear  that  Cal  was  safe,  and  all  were 
glad  that  there  was  to  be  no  more  need  of  bush 
whacking  and  bugle-work  in  the  hot  chaparral. 

The  cowboys  had  opinions  of  their  own,  and  most 
of  them  looked  a  little  blue. 

"Staked  out!"  exclaimed  Sam  Herrick.  "Colo 
rado!  To  think  of  Cal  Evans  staked  out!" 

"Wall,  now,  they  let  him  up  again,"  said  Bill. 
"Looks  as  if  they  didn't  allow  to  torter  him,  least 
wise  not  right  away.  What  a  lot  of  wooden-heads 
we  were,  though,  to  let  that  there  'Pache  that 
brought  the  leaf  slip  out  of  reach  the  way  he 
did." 

"The  cavalry  had  him,"  said  Sam.     "I  took  my 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  177 

eyes  off  him  just  a  second,  and  when  I  looked  again 
he  wasn't  thar." 

The  cactus  leaf  came  back  to  Colonel  Evans,  and 
once  more  he  studied  every  dent  and  scratch  upon  it. 
The  writing  looked  as  if  it  had  been  done  with  the 
point  of  a  knife.  There  could  be  no  doubt  but  what 
it  was  Cal's  work. 

"You'll  see  him  again,"  said  Captain  Moore,  en 
couragingly. 

"It'll  be  about  the  time  that  Kah-go-mish  sees  his 
own  children,  I  reckon,"  replied  the  colonel. 
"They're  a  sort  of  security,  but  something  might 
happen  to  him  in  spite  of  their  being  here." 

"Indians  are  uncertain;  that's  a  fact,"  said  the 
captain,  "but  you  must  keep  up  your  spirits.  Do  you 
believe  in  Providence,  colonel?  I  do." 

"Do  I?"  said  Cal's  father.  "Of  course  I  do. 
Why?" 

"Well,  isn't  it  curious  that  Cal  hasn't  been  hurt, 
through  all  this,  up  to  the  time  when  he  wrote  that 
letter?  Wasn't  he  taken  care  of?"  asked  the 
captain. 

"He  got  lost  in  the  chaparral,  didn't  he?  Isn't 
he  a  prisoner  now?" 

"They  found  him,  and  it  may  be  a  good  thing 
that  they  did.  Hold  on  a  bit.  Anyhow  we'll  keep 
a  tight  grip  on  those  two  young  redskins." 

"Ping,"  said  the  colonel.  "That's  a  queer  name 
for  an  Indian  boy.  Tah-nu-nu  isn't  so  bad  for  a 
young  squaw.  We'll  camp  here  to-night?" 

"Of  course,"  said  the  captain,  "but  we'll  make  an 
early  start  in  the  morning,  and  go  back  close  along 
the  boundary  line.  There's  good  grass  beyond  the 


178  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

desert;  wouldn't  mind  forgetting  the  line  for  a  few 
miles  if  we  came  near  enough  to  any  Apaches.  Sorry 
I  didn't  get  another  talk  with  the  chief's  messenger. 
It  beats  me  how  he  slipped  away." 

The  wild-looking-Mescalero  postman  who  brought 
the  cactus-leaf  letter  may  have  had  another  errand 
on  his  hands.  When  he  halted  at  the  head  of  the 
path,  in  full  view  of  everybody,  he  did  not  look  as  if 
he  meant  to  go  away  without  an  answer,  and  he  did 
not.  He  obtained  one  from  Ping  and  Tah-nu-nu,  to 
carry  to  their  father  and  mother.  The  Chiricahuas 
saw  it  given,  and  afterwards  reported  that  the  signs 
exchanged  told  that  all  were  well,  and  that  the 
young  folk  would  soon  be  at  liberty.  Some  other 
messages  came  and  went,  through  hands  and  feet 
and  features,  and  then  the  postman  sank  down  into 
a  sitting  posture  at  the  edge  of  the  chaparral.  That 
was  where  Captain  Moore  now  remembered  seeing 
the  last  of  him. 

The  excitement  over  the  cactus  leaf  absorbed  all 
minds  for  a  minute  or  so,  then,  and  the  Apache 
warrior  went  under  a  bush  as  if  he  had  been  a  sage- 
hen.  Once  beyond  it  he  was  hidden,  but  he  went 
snake-fashion  some  distance  farther.  As  soon  as  he 
deemed  it  safe  to  stand  erect  he  did  so. 

"Ugh!"  he  remarked.  "Pa-de-to-pah-kah-tse- 
caugh-to-kah-no-tan  heap  great  brave.  Heap  get 
away." 

That  was  evidently  his  longest  name,  and  he  was 
a  pretty  tall  Indian,  and  had  a  right  to  compliment 
himself  just  then.  The  men  who  hurried  out  after 
him,  when  they  found  that  he  was  gone,  went  back 
again  with  a  mental  assurance  that  he  was  some- 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  179 

where  in  the  chaparral,  but  that  only  he  himself 
knew  precisely  where.  While  they  were  hunting,  he 
was  walking  rapidly  through  the  cross-paths  of  the 
spider-web.  He  came  to  a  place  where  one  of  the 
horses  won  by  his  band  near  Slater's  Branch  was 
tied  to  a  bush.  He  was  saddled  and  bridled,  and  he 
carried  also  one  of  the  small  water-barrels  found 
among  the  equipments  of  the  Mexican  pack-mules. 
The  warrior  picked  up  his  weapons  from  the  sand 
near  the  horse,  drank  some  water,  complimented 
himself  again,  and  went  off  on  foot  to  complete  his 
day's  business.  He  drew  stealthily  nearer  and 
nearer  to  the  cavalry  and  cowboy  camp  at  Cold 
Spring,  and  now,  while  Captain  Moore  and  Colonel 
Evans  were  expressing  so  much  regret  that  the  post 
man  of  Kah-go-mish  was  beyond  their  reach,  a  pair 
of  eyes  under  a  thorn-bush,  within  a  hundred  yards, 
watched  their  every  movement  and  took  note  of 
whatever  was  going  on  around  the  spring. 

The  lurking  Apache  could  see  much,  but  he  could 
hear  little.  Least  of  all  could  even  his  quick  ears 
catch  the  suppressed  whisper  of  Colonel  Evans  when 
at  last  he  lay  down  upon  his  blanket  for  a  few  hours 
of  rest. 

"Cal,"  he  said,  "if  I  don't  take  you  home  with 
me,  what  shall  I  say  to  your  mother?" 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

THE  MYSTERY   OF   THE   STICKS. 

CAL  EVANS,  sitting  by  the  fire  and  toasting  his 
bacon  in  the  camp  of  the  Apaches,  knew  noth 
ing  of  what  was  to  happen  that  day  in  all  those  other 
places.  He  was  ignorant  of  what  had  already  oc 
curred,  except  to  himself.  His  strongest  feeling,  at 
that  moment,  was  grief  for  what  he  knew  must  be 
the  anxiety  of  his  father,  and  for  what  he  feared 
that  his  mother  would  suffer  when  his  father  should 
get  home  without  him.  He  had  passed  a  wonderful 
night,  and  it  seemed  to  have  made  an  older  boy 
of  him. 

The  dawn  was  brightening  fast  when  he  took  his 
first  cup  of  coffee.  He  was  very  hungry,  and  he 
picked  up  a  piece  of  corn  bread  to  eat  with  it.  The 
fact  that  it  was  stale,  and  that  it  had  been  upon  the 
ground,  did  not  make  any  difference  to  a  fellow  who 
had  been  staked  out,  and  who  was  very  likely  to  be 
upon  his  back  again  very  soon,  or  tied  to  a  torture- 
post. 

As  for  his  two  guards,  he  did  not  know  nor  care 
that  they  had  aroused  several  other  braves,  and  that 
all  of  them  were  rummaging  the  forest,  near  the 
cypress,  in  search  of  any  trail  he  might  have  left 
behind  him.  Each  brave  in  turn  had  re-examined 
the  forked  stakes  and  had  expressed  his  wonder. 

1 80 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  181 

According  to  them,  Cal  was  "Heap  snake"  and 
"Heap  bad  medicine."  They  were  at  work  upon 
their  mystery,  and  he  upon  a  piece  of  toasted  bacon, 
when  he  heard  an  almost  musical  "Ugh,"  behind 
him,  followed  by  other  grunts,  in  which  there  was 
no  music  whatever. 

The  first  sound  came  from  a  woman's  voice,  and, 
when  he  turned  around,  there  stood  Wah-wah-o-be. 
She  had  risen  early  in  order  that  the  chief's  break 
fast  might  be  ready  for  him  upon  his  return  from 
his  morning  look  at  the  corral.  The  other  exclama 
tions  were  uttered  by  three  dog-soldiers,  whose  pa 
trol  duty  had  brought  them  to  that  camp-fire. 

"How,"  said  Cal,  holding  out  his  hand.  "Good 
squaw.  Give  boy  water." 

Then  he  remembered  that  she  had  answered  him 
very  well  in  Spanish,  and  he  said  something  in  that 
tongue  about  the  coffee  and  bacon,  and  told  the 
three  dog-soldiers  that  they  were  very  fine-looking 
fellows. 

It  was  not  impudence,  and  it  was  not  cunning,  for 
it  was  nothing  more  nor  less  than  desperation,  but 
he  could  not  have  acted  more  wisely.  While  he  was 
exchanging  morning  greetings  with  the  dusky  police 
men,  yet  another  brave  came  hurriedly  up,  and,  the 
moment  he  saw  Cal,  he  uttered  an  astonished  whoop. 
He  was  one  of  the  pair  set  to  watch  him,  and  he  had 
come  in  great  trepidation  to  announce  the  escape  of 
the  prisoner.  Under  other  circumstances  he  might 
have  even  used  violence,  but  a  captive  was  safe  in 
the  hands  of  the  dog-soldiers,  and  he  did  but  stare 
in  Cal's  face  as  if  in  doubt  as  to  his  being  there. 

Cal's  mocking  coolness  was  not  at  all  exhausted, 


1 82  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

for  he  felt  too  badly  to  be  afraid.     He  held  out  his 
hand. 

"How,"  he  said.  "Good-looking  Indian.  Drive 
heap  stick." 

"Ugh !"  said  the  puzzled  savage.  "How  boy  get 
away?" 

"Leave  stick  there,"  said  Cal.  "Pull  off  arm. 
Put  hand  on  again.  Cut  off  foot.  Put  on  again. 
Want  coffee." 

He  explained  more  fully,  by  signs,  that  he  had 
taken  himself  to  pieces  to  get  out  of  his  wooden  fet 
ters,  and  had  put  himself  together  again  to  come  and 
eat  his  breakfast. 

Almost  all  Indians  have  a  vein  of  satirical  fun  in 
them,  and  Cal's  explanation  was  thoroughly  appre 
ciated  by  his  hearers,  excepting  the  wrinkled-faced 
warrior  who  was  made  to  look  like  a  cheated  watch 
man.  Wah-wah-o-be  laughed  aloud,  and  a  deep, 
sonorous  voice  behind  them  joined  her  in  what  was 
half-way  between  a  chuckle  and  a  cough. 

"Ugh  I"  it  added.  "Heap  boy.  Son  of  long  pale 
face  chief.  How  boy  like  stake  out?  Kah-go-mish  !" 

"Kah-go-mish  is  a  great  chief,"  said  Cal.  "Steal 
heap  pony.  Hear  a  great  deal  about  him.  Bad 
Indian." 

He  had  touched,  half  bitterly,  the  right  chord — 
the  Apache  leader's  intense  vanity  about  his  fame. 
Wah-wah-o-be  was  also  pleased  to  hear  that  the 
pale-faces  talked  about  Kah-go-mish. 

Before  the  chief  could  unbend  for  any  more  con 
versation,  however,  his  duty  required  that  he  should 
investigate  the  affair  of  the  forked  stakes.  They 
were  a  mystery  even  to  him  for  a  moment.  He 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  183 

reprimanded  the  two  guards  severely  for  using  them 
at  all.  They  were  needless.  They  had  been  care 
lessly  put  down.  The  braves  who  had  done  it  were 
mere  squaws,  and  did  not  know  how  to  drive  a  stake. 
He  was  stooping  over  one  of  the  fetters  when  he 
said  that,  and  the  truth  flashed  upon  him.  Cal  had 
driven  it  down  hard,  and  it  was  plain  that  no  human 
ankle  had  ever  been  under  that  fork.  The  chief's 
derision  of  the  unlucky  guards  broke  out  afresh,  but 
he  expressed  great  admiration  for  the  skill  and  con 
duct  of  the  young  pale-face  brave,  the  worthy  son 
of  the  long,  broad-shouldered  chief  of  the  Santa 
Lucia  cowboys. 

Wah-wah-o-be  had  no  need  to  explain  to  the  dog- 
soldiers  that  Cal  was  to  be  permitted  to  finish  his 
breakfast  in  peace.  They  were  decidedly  inclined 
to  favor  a  youngster  who  had  performed  a  feat  so 
remarkable,  and  whose  courage  was  evidently  equal 
to  his  cunning. 

Other  Indians  and  other  squaws  came  and  went, 
and  boys  and  girls,  although  the  larger  part  of  the 
band  was  inclined  to  sleep  a  little  late  that  morning. 

Kah-go-mish  came  back  from  his  inspection  of  the 
stakes,  and  he  came  with  another  part  of  his  plan 
ready  for  action.  He  now  felt  pretty  sure  of  getting 
back  Ping  and  Tah-nu-nu  without  giving  up  too  many 
horses,  and  he  had  decided  upon  a  safe  method  for 
opening  negotiations  with  the  pale-faces.  Nothing 
whatever  could  be  done  successfully  as  long  as  the 
blue-coats  were  in  the  way.  He  had  dealt  with  army 
officers  before,  and  their  methods  had  been  un 
pleasant.  They  had  always  persisted  in  speaking  of 
captured  horses  as  stolen  property,  and  they  were  in 


1 84  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

a  sort  of  league  with  the  Mexicans  as  to  such  mat 
ters.  His  first  business  was  to  get  beyond  their 
reach,  after  letting  them  know  that  he  held  a  hostage 
for  their  present  good  behavior.  He  ate  his  break 
fast  while  he  was  thinking  over  the  matter,  and  then 
he  summoned  one  of  his  most  cunning  warriors  and 
told  him  to  bring  his  swiftest  horse  and  a  cactus-leaf. 

Cal's  heart  jumped  for  joy  when  he  found  that  he 
was  to  write  to  his  father,  even  with  such  materials. 
He  took  the  leaf  and  he  used  his  knife  for  a  pen. 
He  saw  the  Apache  messenger  spring  upon  his  horse 
and  ride  away,  and  it  seemed  to  him  that  one  of  the 
heaviest  parts  of  his  burden  had  been  taken  off. 

Kah-go-mish  took  pains  to  explain  to  his  prisoner 
that  if  he  should  run  away  to  the  northward  he 
would  die  of  thirst  in  the  desert,  and  if  to  the  south 
ward,  he  would  only  lose  himself  among  forests  and 
mountains. 

"Stake  him  out  again  ?"  said  Cal.  "Pull  up  stakes 
and  come  for  coffee." 

Once  more  the  grim  Apache  smiled  not  unkindly, 
and  there  was  less  danger  of  any  sort  of  handcuffs 
or  shackles. 

As  soon  as  the  entire  band  had  eaten  its  morning 
meal,  Cal  had  something  worth  looking  at.  The 
packs  taken  from  the  Mexican  army  mules  had  not 
been  searched,  up  to  that  hour,  except  for  present 
supplies.  It  was  now  needful  to  ascertain  exactly 
what  they  contained,  and  they  were  all  brought  out 
and  laid  upon  the  ground  in  order.  It  was  speedily 
evident  that  a  company  of  Mexican  cavalry,  with  a 
reinforcement  of  mounted  militia,  required  few  luxu 
ries,  but  meant  to  have  enough  of  such  as  it  wanted. 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  185 

Corn-meal  for  tortillas,  or  Mexican  cakes,  was 
plentiful,  and  the  Apache  squaws  knew  what  to  do 
with  it.  So  was  bacon.  There  was  an  abundance  of 
coffee  and  a  fair  supply  of  sugar.  There  were  sev 
eral  small  bales  of  tobacco  in  the  leaf,  for  cigaritas, 
and  some  in  manufactured  shape.  There  were  whole 
mule-loads  of  blankets,  for  possible  use  in  mountain 
camps.  There  was  ammunition,  as  if  Colonel 
Romero  had  expected  much  fighting.  Miscellaneous 
plunder  filled  out  the  list,  and  the  band  of  the  great 
Kah-go-mish  considered  itself  very  rich  indeed. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

HOW  WOULD   YOU   LIKE   FIRE? 

needs  of  human  beings  are  very  much  the 
A  same  the  world  over,  but  they  are  satisfied  in 
different  ways.  The  tilted  wagon  from  Santa  Fe 
brought  to  Santa  Lucia  coffee  and  sugar  of  a  better 
quality  than  the  Apaches  found  in  the  packs  of  the 
Mexican  army  mules,  but  it  was  sugar  and  coffee 
after  all.  The  magazines  and  papers  had  been  full 
of  news  and  information  for  Vic  and  her  mother, 
and  the  escaped  train-guard  brought  very  interesting 
matter  to  Colonel  Romero.  Letters  came  with  the 
wagon,  but  not  one  so  interesting  as  was  the  epistle 
which  Cal  had  written  upon  the  cactus-leaf.  No 
story  of  any  sort,  in  any  of  the  books  or  pamphlets 
which  Vic  turned  over  so  eagerly,  was  likely  to  be 
more  absorbingly  interesting  to  her  or  to  any  other 
reader  than  were  to  Ping  and  Tah-nu-nu  the  tales 
told  by  the  old  Chiricahua  under  the  shadow  of  the 
mesquit  bushes  near  the  Manitou  Water.  He  told 
more,  that  evening.  Some  of  them  were  about  him 
self  and  some  were  about  things  that  he  had  seen 
among  the  blue-coats  at  the  forts  where  he  had  been. 
They  were  in  a  good  frame  of  mind  for  listening, 
since  the  sign-language  letter  brought  to  them  by  the 
messenger  of  Kah-go-mish.  They  knew  from  him 
that  their  band  was  to  leave  no  trail  behind  it,  and 

186 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  187 

that  the  son  of  the  long  chief  of  the  cowboys  was  as 
much  a  prisoner  as  they  were.  If  they  did  not  give 
up  the  idea  of  trying  to  make  their  own  escape,  they 
felt  more  contented,  and  could  joke  and  laugh  about 
their  captivity. 

"Ping  pale-face  by  and  by,"  said  Tah-nu-nu,  al 
most  merrily.  "Heap  blue-coat  chief.  Kah-go-mish 
make  Cal  big  Apache  brave." 

Her  quick  ears  had  caught  his  name,  but  Ping 
more  frequently  spoke  of  him  as  "Heap  pony." 

Before  the  arrival  of  that  quiet  evening  hour,  Cal 
had  added  somewhat  to  his  rapidly  growing  list  of 
new  experiences.  He  felt  better  after  writing  the 
cactus-leaf  letter,  and  he  ate  a  fair  second  breakfast, 
cooked  for  him  by  Wah-wah-o-be.  He  made  her 
acquaintance  very  fast,  but  Kah-go-mish  had  his 
hands  full  of  duties  belonging  to  his  pack-mule 
cargo,  and  he  did  not  come  again. 

Quite  a  different  sort  of  fellow  did  come,  for  the 
wrinkled-faced  old  warrior  was  ready  to  burst  with 
curiosity  as  to  how  Cal  had  managed  to  get  out  of 
his  forked-stake  prison.  With  Wah-wah-o-be's  help 
he  managed  to  say  so,  and  Cal  volunteered  to  show 
him.  Several  other  braves  went  with  them  to  the 
foot  of  the  giant  cypress,  and  in  a  minute  or  so  more 
that  Apache  was  described  by  all  the  voices  around 
him  as  "The-old-man-who-put-a-peg  into-a-gopher- 
hole."  He  already  had  a  fine  long  warrior  name  of 
his  own,  or  the  new  one  would  have  stuck  to  him 
for  the  remainder  of  his  life.  As  it  was,  he  evi 
dently  regarded  Cal  with  more  than  a  little 
admiration. 

"What  do  now?"  he  said.    "No  more  get  away?" 


1 88  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

"More  eat,  by  and  by,"  said  Cal.  "See  red  pony, 
now.  Medicine  pony." 

There  was  no  reason  why  the  prisoner,  under  a 
sufficient  guard,  should  not  be  permitted  such  a 
privilege,  and  the  wrinkled-faced  brave  nodded.  He 
dropped  his  long  Apache  names,  however,  both  of 
them,  and  used  one  which  Cal  discovered  had  been 
given  him  at  the  Mescalero  Reservation. 

"Crooked  Nose  go,"  he  said.  "Pull  Stick  see 
medicine  pony." 

The  now  numerous  drove  of  quadrupeds  belong 
ing  to  the  prosperous  and  wealthy  band  of  Kah-go- 
mish  were  no  longer  picketed.  Free  of  lariats,  but 
attended  by  watchful  red  drovers,  they  had  been 
conducted  to  a  strip  of  natural  prairie  at  some  dis 
tance  from  the  rear  of  the  camp  where  Cal  had 
eaten  his  breakfast. 

They  were  of  all  sorts,  good,  bad  and  middling, 
horses,  ponies,  and  mules;  and  Cal  was  able  to  pick 
out,  as  he  went  along,  quite  a  number  that  had  come 
all  the  way  from  the  bank  of  Slater's  Branch.  He 
was  looking  around  him  for  one  horse  that  was 
worth  more  than  all  the  rest,  in  his  opinion,  when  a 
loud  neigh  sounded  from  behind  some  bushes  near 
him. 

Very  much  to  the  surprise  of  Crooked  Nose,  the 
handsomest  mustang  he  had  ever  seen  came  out  with 
a  vigorous  bound,  a  cavort,  and  a  throwing  up  of 
heels,  and  dashed  straight  towards  Pull  Stick,  as  he 
had  several  times  called  Cal  Evans. 

"Ugh !"  he  exclaimed.    "Heap  pony !" 

"Hurrah,  Dick!"  shouted  Cal,  and  he  threw  his 
arms  around  the  neck  of  the  red  mustang. 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  189 

One  of  the  dog-soldier  keepers  of  the  horses  came 
riding  towards  them  at  that  moment,  however,  and 
Crooked  Nose  touched  Cal  on  the  shoulder. 

"Pull  Stick  come.    Pony  stay." 

He  added  a  string  of  Apache  words  that  Cal  could 
make  nothing  of,  but  that  described  Dick  as  being 
now  the  property  of  The-boy-whose-ear-pushed- 
away-a-piece-of-lead.  He  conversed  for  a  minute  or 
two  with  the  mounted  Apache,  and  the  latter  pointed 
sternly  towards  the  camp.  There  was  no  such  thing 
as  disputing  with  a  Mescalero  policeman,  and  Dick 
himself  received  a  sharp  blow  from  the  loose  end  of 
a  lariat  when  he  attempted  to  follow  the  only  master 
he  recognized  as  having  any  right  to  him. 

Cal  was  glad  to  find  that  his  four-footed  friend 
was  in  good  condition,  after  his  pretty  severe  share 
in  the  adventures  which  began  in  the  chaparral. 
Still,  it  was  an  uncomfortable  thing  to  think  of,  that 
the  red  mustang  was  likely  to  end  his  days  as  an 
Apache  pony  instead  of  as  the  pet  of  all  the  house 
hold  at  Santa  Lucia. 

The  camp  was  regained,  and  Cal  at  once  took  note 
of  changes.  The  fires  had  been  kindled  the  previous 
evening,  in  a  straggling  line  along  the  bank  of  a  small 
stream  of  water.  Tangled  bushes  marked  the  course 
of  the  stream,  and  great  trees  leaned  over  it,  drop 
ping  the  swinging  ropes  of  vines  from  their  branches 
to  its  very  surface.  The  more  distant  fires  had 
been  entirely  hidden,  except  for  the  glare  they 
made. 

The  band  had  bivouacked  that  first  night,  but  now 
there  were  lodges  going  up,  and  Cal  knew  what 
that  meant. 


190  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

"They  mean  to  stay  here,"  he  said  to  himself. 
"I  might  as  well  be  in  jail." 

It  was  nearly  so.  The  neighboring  wilderness 
had  been  found  to  be  full  of  game,  and  the  plan  of 
Kah-go-mish  called  for  liberal  supplies  of  fresh  meat, 
in  addition  to  what  he  had  found  upon  Colonel 
Romero's  pack-mules.  He  felt  sure  that  any  Mexi 
can  force  hunting  after  him  would  look  almost  any 
where  else,  and  none  was  likely  to  come  for  a  long 
time.  He  and  his  band  were  happy;  they  were  safe ; 
they  could  have  a  good  time  until  continued  happi 
ness  and  safety  might  require  another  move. 

Cal  and  Crooked  Nose  were  met  by  a  summons 
to  come  before  the  chief,  and  went  to  find  him  wait 
ing  their  arrival. 

"Pull  Stick  here !    Ugh  I"  said  Crooked  Nose. 

"Kah-go-mish  is  a  great  chief !"  remarked  the 
Apache  commander  dignifiedly,  but  he  had  more  to 
say.  He  repeated  to  Cal  his  previous  counsel  against 
an  attempt  to  escape,  but  after  that  he  raked  out 
some  hot  coals  from  the  smouldering  camp-fire  near 
him. 

"Boy  see?"  he  said,  as  he  pointed  at  the  red 
warning.  "How  boy  like?  Ugh!" 

Cal  shuddered  and  nodded,  but  he  could  not  find 
a  word  to  say  in  reply. 

"Look!"  said  the  chief  again,  pointing  to  the 
ground  a  few  paces  away,  and  Cal  looked. 

There  lay  the  forked  sticks  which  he  had  escaped 
from  that  very  morning,  and  the  meaning  of  Kah- 
go-mish  was  very  plain  indeed. 

"Boy,  son  of  pale-face  chief,"  he  said.  "No  heap 
fool.  Go.  Ugh." 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  191 

"Pull  Stick  come,"  said  Crooked  Nose,  in  a  not 
unfriendly  manner,  and  Cal  walked  away  with  him, 
to  be  more  minutely  informed  that  he  could  do  about 
as  he  pleased,  until  further  orders,  unless  he  chose 
to  do  something  like  trying  to  escape,  which  would 
make  it  proper  for  his  excellent  Apache  friends  to 
stake  him  out  again,  and  "make  heap  fire  all  over 
Pull  Stick." 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

THE   MANITOU   WATER. 

second  afternoon,  after  the  arrival  of  the 
A  tilted  wagon  at  Santa  Lucia,  was  dull  enough, 
in  spite  of  the  ample  supply  of  news  and  literature. 
All  the  news  from  all  the  world  seemed  worthless 
without  news  from  Cal  and  his  father.  All  the 
stories  ever  told  were  uninteresting  until  they  should 
come  home  and  tell  the  story  of  their  expedition 
after  Kah-go-mish  and  his  Apaches.  It  had  been  so 
all  day.  The  projected  improvements,  in  and  around 
the  old  hacienda,  had  somehow  lost  their  attraction, 
and  were  discussed  no  more.  In  fact  every  time  one 
of  them  had  been  referred  to  it  had  compelled  some 
body  to  mention  the  absent  man  or  boy  who  was 
likely  to  have  an  opinion  to  be  consulted  concerning 
it.  Vic  and  her  mother  went  out  on  horseback  in 
the  morning,  and  they  made  an  uncommonly  long 
ride  of  it,  for  they  went  to  Slater's  Branch  and  back, 
galloping  almost  all  the  way  home,  and  putting  each 
other  in  mind  of  Cal's  dash  upon  the  back  of  the 
red  mustang  to  warn  them  that  the  Indians  were 
coming. 

Duller  and  duller,  yet  more  unquiet  had  the  day 
grown  after  dinner,  and  now  the  shadows  were 
growing  longer,  and  they  seemed  to  bring  more 
anxiety  with  them. 

192 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  193 

"Mother,"  said  Vic  at  last,  "I've  been  trying  my 
best  not  to  think  of  Cal  or  of  father,  and  I  can't." 

"It's  the  best  thing  we  could  do,"  almost  sighed 
Mrs.  Evans. 

"They  may  be  fighting!"  said  Vic. 

"Most  likely  they're  going  into  camp  somewhere, 
all  tired  out,"  said  her  mother. 

"Oh,  I  do  hope,"  said  Vic,  "they  are  on  their  way 
home.  I  can't  read,  and  I  won't." 

So  all  the  printed  things  were  put  aside,  and  it 
may  be  that  some  of  Vic's  thinking  made  pictures  for 
her  a  little  like  the  reality  that  was  enacting  at  Cold 
Spring  and  in  the  Mexican  forest.  No  imagination 
of  hers  could  have  drawn  anything  quite  equal  to 
either  of  them. 

Something  almost  as  well  worth  making  a  picture 
of  was  taking  place  a  number  of  long  miles  farther 
westward.  Away  up  among  the  crags  and  forests  of 
the  Sierra,  but  below  the  snow-range  at  that  season, 
there  lay  all  day  in  the  sunshine  a  very  tranquil  little 
lake.  All  around  the  lake  were  the  steep  sides  of 
mountains,  and  at  no  point  was  there  any  visible  out 
let.  Streams  of  various  sizes  ran  into  it,  and  one  of 
them  came  plunging  over  the  edge  of  a  perpendicular 
rock,  in  a  foamy,  feathery  waterfall.  There  was 
plenty  of  room  in  the  valley  for  the  lake  to  grow 
larger  in,  but  the  trees  at  its  margin  seemed  to  say 
that  this  was  its  customary  size.  On  the  northern 
side  the  sloping  steep  went  up,  up,  up,  until  all  its 
rocks  became  hidden  under  a  covering  of  snow. 

Just  above  the  snow-line  the  June  sun  had  been 
working  hard,  day  after  day,  melting  snow  for  the 
lake,  until  it  had  undermined  a  vast  icy  mass  several 


i94  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

acres  in  extent.  Nobody  could  guess  how  many  win 
ters  had  been  required  to  make  that  heap  of  frost 
so  deep  and  hard,  or  how  many  summers  had  made 
everything  ready  for  that  hot  day  to  finish  the  work. 

Just  before  sunset  a  moaning  sound  came  down 
the  mountain  and  filled  the  valley.  Then  something 
like  thunder,  or  the  report  of  a  cannon,  echoed 
among  the  crags. 

The  avalanche  had  broken  its  bonds!  Down  it 
came,  slowly  at  first,  then  more  swiftly,  and  the  tall 
pines  were  snapped  off  and  swept  away,  and  great 
bowlders  were  caught  up  and  carried  with  it.  Down, 
down,  down  it  came,  and  at  last,  with  a  great  surging 
plunge,  it  went  head  foremost  into  the  lake.  Crash ! 
splash  1  dash!  the  flying  sheets  of  water  reached  the 
tree-tops  on  the  margin.  The  avalanche  found  deep 
water,  for  it  almost  disappeared,  but  it  made  the  lake 
several  feet  deeper,  and  then  its  own  fragments 
came  up  from  their  dive  to  be  floated  around  and  to 
be  dashed  against  the  shore  by  the  waves. 

It  did  not  take  a  great  while  for  the  surface  of 
the  lake  to  become  calm  again,  with  the  snow-cakes 
and  the  ice-cakes  almost  motionless  in  the  fading 
light.  Not  any  human  eye  had  seen  the  avalanche 
fall,  or  had  noted  its  grandeur  or  any  of  its 
consequences. 

All  things  were  peaceful  at  Cold  Spring.  Every 
body  had  eaten  supper  long  before  sunset,  and  was 
glad  of  feeling  sure  that  only  the  coming  night  was 
to  be  spent  in  a  spot  where  nothing  more  civilized 
than  a  jackass  rabbit  seemed  to  have  any  permanent 
business. 

Colonel  Evans  had  said  all  he  had  to  say  about 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  195 

Cal,  and  he  stood  near  the  spring,  making  vague 
speculations  as  to  how  and  when  he  should  get  into 
better  communication  with  Kah-go-mish.  Near  him, 
sitting  upon  a  ledge,  were  Ping  and  Tah-nu-nu,  and 
the  old  Chiricahua,  who  seemed  to  be  telling  his 
young  friends  something  more  about  the  bubbling 
water,  when  Captain  Moore  strolled  up  to  within  a 
few  paces. 

"Do  you  see  that,  colonel?"  he  said.  "I  know 
sign  language  well  enough  if  I  can't  understand  the 
words.  There's  no  wonder  they're  superstitious 
about  Fonda  des  Arenas." 

"Cold  Spring?"  replied  the  colonel.  "What  do 
they  say  about  it?" 

"Ask  the  scout.  He  says  it's  Manitou  Water  in 
the  old  tongue.  I  can't  work  the  Apache  syllables." 

Neither  could  Colonel  Evans,  when  the  Chirica 
hua  repeated  them.  He  was  even  eager  to  tell  more, 
and  what  he  did  tell  was  curious,  if  true.  Just  before 
the  great  and  noble  Chiricahuas  and  Apaches  came 
to  own  that  country,  he  said,  there  had  been  a  hill 
there,  a  sort  of  mountain  with  forests,  and  there  was 
no  desert  there,  and  no  chaparral.  The  Chiricahuas 
would  have  preferred  a  hill  and  trees  and  grass,  but 
the  old  manitou  who  had  lived  there  had  to  go  away, 
and  everything  sunk  down  to  a  level.  The  trees  died 
and  rotted  away,  and  all  was  dry  and  desolate,  until 
one  terribly  hot  day  when  a  band  of  Apaches  reached 
the  rocky  level,  almost  dying  of  thirst.  Their  ponies 
were  unable  to  go  any  farther,  and  they  had  given 
up  all  hope.  They  sat  around  upon  the  rock,  and 
their  ponies  lay  down.  All  night  long  they  sat  there, 
and  then,  just  as  the  sun  was  rising,  they  saw  some- 


196  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

thing  white  spring  into  the  air  in  the  middle  of  the 
wide  rock.  A  new  manitou  had  arrived,  friendly  to 
the  Apaches.  He  brought  the  Manitou  Water,  and 
it  had  run  continually  to  the  present  time.  Generally 
it  was  quiet,  but  if  the  manitou  heard  good  news,  the 
water  would  sometimes  jump  away  up,  as  it  did  when 
it  first  came. 

"Very  pretty  story,"  began  Captain  Moore,  but 
at  that  moment  the  air  suddenly  was  filled  with 
excited  exclamations. 

The  old  Chiricahua  uttered  a  loud  whoop  as  he 
sprang  to  his  feet. 

uUgh !"  he  said.    "Heap  manitou !" 

He  added  a  few  rapid  sentences  in  his  own  tongue, 
while  Ping  and  Tah-nu-nu  darted  away  to  the  edge 
of  the  chaparral  and  stood  there,  clinging  to  each 
other  as  if  in  terror. 

"Colorado!"  shouted  Sam  Herrick.  "What  on 
earth's  got  into  Cold  Spring?" 

The  colonel  and  the  captain  also  retreated  rapidly, 
shivering  from  the  shock  of  a  sudden  cold  bath,  for 
they  both  were  wet  to  the  skin. 

Twenty  feet  high  sprang  the  water,  with  a  sharp 
hiss  and  a  report  like  a  pistol-shot.  The  first  leap 
subsided,  but  was  instantly  followed  by  another  and 
another,  each  less  lofty  than  the  one  before  it. 
Then  the  stream  became  fairly  steady,  but  with  about 
three  times  its  customary  supply,  so  that  quite  a  rill 
of  water  ran  away  across  the  quartz,  to  be  ab 
sorbed  by  the  thirsty  sand  and  gravel  among  the 
bushes. 

Neither  Ping  nor  Tah-nu-nu  nor  the  Chiricahuas 
could  be  induced  to  come  near  the  fountain  again, 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  197 

but  all  the  white  men  gathered  around  it  and  made 
guesses  as  to  what  had  made  it  jump. 

"Something  volcanic,"  said  the  captain. 

"Been  an  earthquake  somewhere,  it  may  be,"  said 
the  colonel. 

All  that  evening  there  was  more  or  less  discussion 
of  the  remarkable  performance  of  Cold  Spring,  and 
everybody  missed  the  right  guess.  It  was  only  a 
splash  caused  by  the  avalanche  when  it  plunged  into 
the  mountain  reservoir  which  supplied  the  chaparral 
and  the  sage-hens  and  the  jackass  rabbits  and  the 
other  wild  animals  there  with  water.  Nothing  could 
well  be  more  simple,  and  there  was  no  soundness 
whatever  in  the  grave  remark  made  to  Ping  and 
Tah-nu-nu  by  the  old  Chiricahua. 

"Ugh!"  he  said.  "Manitou  Water  heap  good 
medicine.  Good  Apache  manitou.  Kah-go-mish  get 
away  now.  Keep  all  pony." 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

PULL  STICK  AND  THE   HURRICANE. 

PING  and  Tah-nu-nu  had  had  no  good  reason  for 
complaining  of  their  captivity.  They  had  been 
well  fed,  they  had  each  a  magnificent  handkerchief 
and  a  looking-glass  medal,  they  had  heard  any  num 
ber  of  new  stories  from  the  old  Chiricahua,  and  they 
had  seen  how  high  the  old  manitou  could  make  the 
spring  jump  when  he  heard  good  news.  They  were 
almost  conscience-smitten  to  find  how  friendly  were 
their  feelings  towards  all  those  wicked  cowboys  and 
blue-coats,  but  they  were  sure  that  they  could  get 
over  it  all  and  be  good  Apaches  again  as  soon  as 
they  should  get  out  of  that  camp. 

One  thought  came,  every  now  and  then,  to  trouble 
Tah-nu-nu.  Colonel  Evans  had  said  that  he  meant 
to  take  Ping  home  with  him  and  make  a  farmer  of 
him,  and  Tah-nu-nu's  mind  drew  a  humiliating  pic 
ture  of  The-boy-whose-ear-pushed-away-a-piece-of- 
lead  come  down  to  work  in  a  cornfield  with  a  hoe. 

She  spoke  about  it  to  Ping,  and  he  replied  with 
some  awful  reminders  of  stories  he  had  heard  of  the 
cruel  manner  in  which  little  Indian  girls  were  some 
times  treated  by  hardhearted  pale-face  squaws.  She 
might  have  felt  worse  but  for  a  memory  she  had  of  a 
beautiful  ribbon  given  her  by  a  white  lady  at  the 
Reservation  headquarters. 

198 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  199 

Both  of  them  knew  that  the  cowboys  and  the  blue- 
coats  intended  to  march  away  early  the  next  morn 
ing,  and  it  added  more  than  a  little  to  their  respect 
for  the  Apache  manitou  who  managed  the  Cold 
Spring  water-works.  They  believed  that  the  great 
jump  of  the  fountain  had  produced  such  an  effect 
upon  the  pale-faces  that  their  chiefs  had  determined 
to  give  up  the  pursuit  of  Kah-go-mish.  The  old 
Chiricahua  was  still  detailed  to  watch  the  movements 
of  the  chief's  children,  but  they  were  not  tied  up  that 
night. 

Neither  had  Cal  been  all  day  in  the  camp  where 
he  had  been  staked  out  the  night  before.  He  had 
seemed  to  listen  so  attentively  to  the  stern  warnings 
given  him  against  any  attempt  at  running  away,  and 
he  had  shown  such  good  sense  that  very  morning, 
that  he  was  allowed  to  walk  around  as  he  pleased. 
He  did  so,  and  he  succeeded  in  putting  on  an  air  of 
easy  unconcern,  although  he  knew  that  his  move 
ments  were  all  closely  noted  by  the  keenest  kind  of 
human  eyes.  He  could  hardly  for  a  moment  be  be 
yond  the  range  of  those  of  the  dog-soldier  police, 
but  their  watch  was  blindness  itself  compared  to  that 
of  the  squaws  and  the  young  people. 

The  boys,  of  all  sizes,  avoided  coming  too  near 
him,  but  it  was  not  long  before  he  made  up  his  mind 
that  every  large  tuft  of  weeds  around  that  camp 
contained  a  Mescalero  in  his  teens  or  under  them. 
Little  six-year-olders  stepped  away  from  behind 
trees,  or  sauntered  out  of  bushes,  or  seemed  to  have 
errands  which  led  them  right  past  him.  All  of  his 
own  faculties  were  in  a  state  of  strained  wakefulness, 
and  he  did  not  allow  such  things  to  escape  him. 


200  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

"I'll  see  the  whole  camp,  anyhow,"  he  said  to 
himself,  somewhat  late  in  the  day,  after  he  had  be 
come  accustomed  to  the  queer  sort  of  freedom  given 
him.  "I  won't  give  them  any  excuse  for  piling  fire 
upon  me,  but  I  want  to  know  all  about  this  place." 

The  stream  along  which  the  camp  lay  was  hardly 
more  than  two  yards  wide  in  many  places,  but  it  ran 
slowly  and  seemed  to  be  deep.  There  were  places 
clear  of  bushes,  here  and  there,  where  it  could  be 
seen,  and  it  had  a  black  look,  from  the  density  of 
the  shadows  which  lay  upon  it.  It  was  good  water, 
pretty  cool,  and  the  Apaches  had  taken  some  fine 
fish  out  of  it,  but  there  was  something  remarkable  in 
the  fact  that  it  ran  in  a  straight  line. 

Cal  walked  slowly  on,  glancing  at  lodge  after 
lodge.  Most  of  them  were  pretty  well  peopled,  and 
one  that  was  not  so  had  a  guard  before  it,  for  it 
contained  the  treasures  of  the  Mexican  pack-mule 
train.  There  was  not  an  Apache  in  the  band  wicked 
enough  to  have  stolen  anything  out  of  that  store 
house  lodge,  and  the  solitary  dog-soldier  who 
lounged  in  front  of  it  was  not  there  as  a  protection 
against  human  thieves.  He  was  to  keep  out  dogs, 
snakes,  and  any  other  kind  of  "bad  medicine"  that 
might  attempt  an  investigation  of  the  good  things 
the  loss  of  which  Colonel  Romero's  cavalry  were  at 
that  time  growling  about.  He  probably  had  other 
duties,  but  none  of  them  related  to  Pull  Stick,  and 
Cal  sauntered  on,  barely  catching  a  glimpse  of  a  pair 
of  Apache  boys  who  were  doing  the  same  among  the 
trees  on  the  other  side  of  the  brook. 

He  had  never  seen  finer  trees,  nor  had  he  ever 
before  noticed  precisely  such  a  run  of  water,  for  just 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  201 

a  little  distance  beyond  the  last  of  the  widely  sepa 
rated  lodges  he  came  to  a  point  where  the  stream 
turned  off  at  right  angles. 

"It  never  did  that  of  its  own  accord,"  suddenly 
flashed  into  the  mind  of  Cal,  and  he  added,  aloud: 
"Some  time  or  other  it  was  dug  out!" 

"Ugh!"  exclaimed  a  voice  behind  him.  "What 
Pull  Stick  see?" 

Cal  pointed  to  the  water  and  tried  to  explain  him 
self,  startled  as  he  was  a  little  by  finding  Crooked 
Nose  so  near  him. 

The  deeply  wrinkled,  forbidding  face  of  the 
Apache  brave  put  on  a  look  of  very  dark  solemnity 
as  he  lifted  a  hand  and  pointed  at  something  about 
a  hundred  yards  beyond  the  turn  in  the  stream. 
"Ugh!"  he  said.  "Pull  Stick  good  eye." 
The  first  thing  that  caught  Cal's  attention  was  an 
enormous  dead  tree,  whose  gaunt,  leafless  arms 
reached  grimly  out  above  a  great  mound  that  it 
leaned  over.  He  looked  again,  following  the  line 
of  the  water,  and  saw  something  else  that  was  re 
markable.  The  small  rill  which  fed  that  long,  deep, 
shadowed  channel  fell  into  it  out  of  a  massive  stone 
tank.  The  masonry  was  overgrown  with  vegetation 
everywhere  except  at  the  place  where  the  rill  poured 
out. 

At  some  unknown  day,  away  back  in  the  past, 
when  not  one  of  those  old  trees  had  been  more  than 
a  sapling,  some  people  had  been  civilized  enough 
and  prosperous  enough  to  construct  that  granite 
reservoir. 

Cal  stared  intently,  for  the  shadows  were  begin 
ning  to  deepen,  and  he  knew  that  he  would  be  in- 


202  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

terfered  with  if  he  went  too  far  in  his  first  ramble. 
The  stone  tank  did  not  contain  all  the  masonry  over 
which  the  dead  tree  was  leaning.  The  mound  itself 
arose  four-square. 

"It's  one  of  those  Mexican  pyramids,"  exclaimed 
Cal.  "I've  read  about  them.  Didn't  know  that  any 
of  them  were  ever  found  away  up  here." 

He  may  or  may  not  have  been  correct  about  that, 
but  in  a  moment  more  he  turned  to  Crooked  Stick. 
"Sun  go  down?"  he  asked. 
"Ugh !    No.    Pull  Stick  get  heap  water." 
The  deepening  of  the  shadows  had  not  been  alto 
gether  because  that  notable  day  of  Cal's  life  had 
nearly  gone.     It  was  rather  because  black  masses 
of   thunderclouds   had  suddenly   arrived,   and  had 
hidden  all  the  sky  above  that  part  of  the  ancient 
Aztec  forest. 

Swiftly  enough  came  a  darkness  that  walked  in 
among  the  tree-trunks  and  covered  them  so  that  they 
could  not  be  seen  at  twenty  feet  away. 

A  vivid  gleam  of  quivering  lightning  made  every 
thing  stand  out  clearly  for  a  second.  Then  came  a 
deafening  roll  of  thunder,  and  that  was  followed  by 
another  burst  of  sound  that  Cal  did  not  recognize. 
He  did  not  even  know  the  Apache  word  for  cougar, 
which  sprang  to  the  lips  of  Crooked  Nose.  The 
beast  which  had  uttered  the  terrified  roar,  however, 
came  leaping  past  with  tremendous  bounds,  as  if  the 
thunderbolt  had  fallen  near  him  and  he  hoped  to  get 
away  from  it.  Cal  stood  still,  mainly  because  no 
time  was  given  him  for  doing  anything  else,  but  the 
cougar  almost  brushed  his  shoulder  as  it  sprang  by 
him.. 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  203 

"Ugh  I"  said  Crooked  Nose.  "Pull  Stick  great 
brave  by  and  by.  Good!" 

Flash  after  flash,  almost  incessantly,  followed  the 
tremulous  glare  of  lightning,  and  peal  on  peal  fol 
lowed  the  thunder,  during  a  full  minute,  before  any 
rain  fell.  Then  it  seemed  to  Cal  as  if  one  awful 
flash  went  through  everything  around  him,  bringing 
its  rattling  volume  of  deafening  thunder  with  it. 
He  was  half-blinded,  half-stunned,  for  a  moment. 

"That  flash  must  have  struck  close  by,"  he  ex 
claimed. 

So  it  had,  for  the  next  gleam  showed  him  the 
gigantic  trunk  of  the  withered  tree  splintered 
through  near  the  earth,  its  whitened  stem,  with  its 
drapery  of  vines,  toppling  over  to  come  down  with 
a  great  crash  upon  the  mound  above  which  it  so 
long  had  stood  sentinel. 

The  next  instant  all  was  densely  dark,  for  the  rain 
came  down  in  sheets,  and  all  other  sounds  except 
that  of  the  thunder  were  drowned  in  the  roar  of  a 
great  wind.  Cal  Evans  had  come  into  that  forest  to 
witness  a  hurricane. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

UNDER  A   FALLEN  TREE. 

CAL  had  been  all  day  in  a  chaparral  without 
water,  and  he  knew  by  experience  how  very  dry 
an  alkali  desert  could  be,  whether  under  a  hot  sun  or 
a  brilliant  moon.  He  had  seen  sudden  storms  be 
fore,  for  he  was  a  ranche-boy,  and  there  are  wonders 
of  electricity  and  rain  at  times  upon  the  plains.  Up 
to  the  moment  when  the  hurricane  struck  the  tree- 
tops,  however,  he  had  never  fully  understood  what 
could  be  done  by  wind  and  water  and  thunder  and 
lightning,  at  their  very  best  working  strength,  work 
ing  together.  No  wonder  a  poor  cougar  should  be 
in  a  hurry  to  get  under  safe  cover  if  he  had  any  clear 
idea  that  all  this  was  coming. 

As  for  the  trees,  the  healthy  ones  stood  up  to  it 
admirably.  They  had  all  been  through  hurricanes 
time  and  again,  and  were,  moreover,  something  of  a 
protection  to  each  other.  Any  tree  whose  strength 
had  at  all  been  sapped  by  internal  decay,  however, 
or  which  had  failed  to  send  out  roots  in  due  propor 
tion  to  its  height,  was  in  more  or  less  danger. 
Every  now  and  then  the  crash  of  some  old  forest 
prince  made  Cal  look  up  at  the  trees  near  him  to  see 
how  they  were  doing.  Crooked  Nose  crouched  upon 
the  ground  in  silence,  not  looking  at  anything.  The 

204 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  205 

trunk  behind  which  they  were  partly  sheltered  was 
apparently  worthy  of  especial  confidence,  it  was  so 
very  thick  and  seemed  so  completely  beyond  the 
power  of  any  wind  to  break. 

"If  any  tree  can  stand  it,  this  will,"  said  Cal  to 
Crooked  Nose. 

"Ugh  I"  grunted  the  Indian.  "Heap  wind.  Heap 
bad  manitou." 

The  trunk  of  that  tree  fully  justified  Cal's  confi 
dence.  It  did  not  snap.  At  that  very  moment,  how 
ever,  there  was  a  strong  hand  of  the  hurricane  upon 
its  broad  top,  and  the  general  uproar  was  increased 
by  a  groaning,  tearing  sound. 

"It's  coming!  it's  coming!"  shouted  Cal,  as  he 
made  a  great  spring  into  the  gloom  at  its  left,  but 
Crooked  Nose  only  lay  flat  upon  the  ground. 

Ripping,  tearing,  splitting  the  earth  on  the  wind 
ward  side  of  the  tree,  and  breaking  off,  with  reports 
like  pistol-shots,  the  roots  of  the  giant  growth  gave 
way.  Down,  down,  down  came  the  grand  old  oak, 
crashing  through  branches  and  smaller  trees  in  the 
way.  It  left  a  great  hollow  where  its  roots  had  been, 
but  Cal  need  not  have  stirred  one  inch.  If  he  had 
been  twenty  feet  high  he  could  have  walked  under 
that  fallen  trunk  without  touching  it. 

"Safest  place  there  is,"  he  said  to  Crooked  Nose. 
"Hear  that?" 

"Ugh !"  replied  he.    "Bad  medicine !" 

Bad  for  something,  perhaps,  for  it  was  the  squall 
of  an  enormous  cat  in  fright  and  trouble.  It  seemed 
as  if  the  hurricane  must  have  come  for  that  particu 
lar  tree,  since  it  began  at  once  to  die  away  after  the 
crash.  The  thunder  ceased  and  the  flashes  grew 


206  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

fainter,  while  the  small  remains  of  daylight  came 
back  and  made  the  dripping  forest  visible.  The 
spirits  of  Crooked  Nose  did  not  at  once  return.  He 
glanced  at  the  mound,  where  the  lightning-splintered 
wreck  of  the  dead  tree  had  fallen.  He  looked  up  at 
the  oak-trunk  over  him,  and  he  shivered  as  if  from 
cold. 

Once  more  the  cry  of  the  cat  in  trouble  sounded 
just  across  the  brook.  The  carbine  carried  by 
Crooked  Nose  lay  upon  the  ground,  and  Cal  picked 
it  up.  It  was  loaded,  and  its  owner  did  not  make 
the  least  objection  when  Cal  took  the  weapon,  sprang 
across  the  narrow  channel,  and  began  to  search  for 
that  angry  cry. 

Yet  again  it  sounded,  and  now  it  plainly  came 
from  among  the  branches  of  the  fallen  tree. 

"That's  so,"  said  Cal.  "Must  be  the  same  fellow. 
Hid  in  these  bushes  and  got  pinned  down." 

The  frightened  cougar  had  not  thought  of  a  trap, 
when  he  cowered  in  a  little  hollow  behind  a  rotten 
log.  It  had  not  been  set  for  him  by  either  the  oak 
or  the  hurricane,  but  it  caught  him,  for  a  fork  of 
one  of  the  heavier  limbs  came  down  over  that  very 
hollow. 

Cal  thought  he  had  never  seen  any  real  scratching 
done  until  that  moment.  The  earth  and  leaves  and 
sticks  and  bits  of  bark  flew  fast,  as  the  powerful 
claws  tore  a  passage  out  of  that  captivity. 

"He's  fighting  to  get  away,"  said  Cal. 

"So'd  I,  if  I  saw  any  use  in  it.  I  could  escape,  too, 
in  such  a  storm  as  this.  If  another  should  come,  I'll 
try  and  be  ready.  His  head  and  shoulders  are  free 
— there  he  comes!" 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  207 

Crack !  and  the  report  of  the  rifle  was  answered 
by  a  loud  whoop  from  Crooked  Nose. 

Out  from  his  trap  came  the  entire  body  of  the 
cougar,  in  a  convulsive  struggle,  and  he  lay  dead 
upon  the  wet  leaves,  an  ounce  ball  through  his  head 
requiring  no  second  shot. 

Whoop  after  whoop  answered  that  of  Crooked 
Nose,  but  Cal  stood  still,  wet,  very  wet  indeed,  and 
almost  wondering  how  he  came  to  kill  that  tremen 
dous  wild  beast. 

The  wrinkled,  ugly  face  of  the  old  Apache  peered 
over  his  shoulder. 

"Ugh  !     Heap  bad  manitou  gone !" 
Boys  and  braves  came  hurrying  to  the  spot,  and 
half  a  dozen  angry  dog-soldiers  were  eager  to  know 
who  had  fired  a  shot  within  the  limits  of  the  camp, 
contrary  to  rule. 

"Crooked  Nose  kill  cougar,"  was  the  first  bit  of 
broken  English  heard  by  Cal. 

"Ugh !"  was  the  reply.  "Pull  Stick." 
There  was  a  kind  of  fraud  at  work.  The  Apaches 
believed  that  Pull  Stick  had  faced  the  very  dangerous 
animal  before  him  without  any  help.  They  had 
heard  the  wrathful  squall,  but  knew  nothing  of  the 
trap.  Even  when  Cal  explained  it,  the  glory  ac 
corded  to  him  was  hardly  diminished,  for  there  lay 
the  cougar,  claws  and  all.  He  had  performed  a  feat 
precisely  equal  to  that  of  Ping. 

Among  the  last  to  come  was  Kah-go-mish  him 
self,  and  yet  he  did  not  look  like  himself.  The  red 
stocking-legs  on  his  arms  were  soaking  wet,  and  he 
wore  no  hat,  while  his  entire  visage  had  a  look  of 
intense  dejection.  It  remained  there  until  he  caught 


208  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

a  glimpse  of  the  cougar's  body,  and  he  nearly  re 
peated  the  exclamation  of  Crooked  Nose:  "Bad 
medicine  gone !  Ugh!  Heap  good !'T 

Slowly  Cal  began  to  understand  the  meaning  of 
several  things  which  Crooked  Nose  had  told  him 
when  he  pointed  at  the  tank  and  the  mound.  That 
was  a  place  which,  as  all  Apaches  knew,  was  "bad 
medicine"  for  them.  They  ought  not  to  have 
camped  there  or  put  up  lodges,  and  when  the  hurri 
cane  came  it  aroused  all  their  superstitious  fears. 
They  had  been  dreadfully  frightened;  as  much  so  as 
the  poor  cougar  himself,  and  they  would  have  cow 
ered  in  any  hole  just  as  he  did. 

Cal's  unexpected  feat,  therefore,  had  broken  a 
sort  of  evil  charm  of  that  dangerous  locality.  He 
had  used  a  gun,  however,  to  which,  as  a  prisoner, 
he  had  no  right,  and  there  were  serious  questions  to 
be  considered.  He  had  not  undertaken  to  escape, 
but  he  had  trespassed  upon  the  "bad-medicine" 
ground.  A  storm  had  come  and  the  bad  manitou 
had  thrown  trees  at  him  to  kill  him.  Then  he  had 
sent  a  cougar  to  tear  him  to  pieces.  The  bad  mani 
tou  had  not  been  strong  enough,  and  Pull  Stick 
had  thus  far  escaped,  but  it  was  all  very  won 
derful. 

Kah-go-mish  beckoned  Cal  to  follow  him,  and  they 
all  recrossed  the  little  stream  and  walked  on  to  the 
lodge  of  the  chief.  Several  other  lodges  stood  near 
it,  for  none  of  them  had  been  blown  down,  but  all 
things  wore  a  soaked,  miserable  appearance  in  the 
dull  gloom  now  settling  down  over  the  "bad-medi 
cine  camp."  The  squaws  were  trying  to  rekindle 
the  deluged  fires,  but  without  any  success.  Wah- 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  209 

wah-o-be,  at  her  own  heap  of  wet  ashes  in  front  of 
the  lodge,  was  ready  to  give  up  in  despair. 

Kah-go-mish  was  exchanging  guttural  sentences 
with  a  group  of  gloomy-looking,  elderly  warriors, 
when  Cal  took  out  his  pocket-knife,  picked  up  a 
piece  of  pine  wood  and  began  to  make  splinters  and 
shavings  of  it.  He  then  took  from  an  inner  pocket 
a  case  of  wax-matches,  and  in  half  a  minute  more  he 
handed  Wah-wah-o-be  a  blazing  bunch  of  what  to 
her  was  comfort. 

uUgh !"  said  Kah-go-mish  to  his  counsellors. 
"Pull  Stick  good  medicine.  Heap  bring  fire. 
Friend." 

That  was  the  turning-point,  and  Cal  had  but 
barely  escaped  a  much  worse  fate  than  that  of 
Jonah.  At  that  very  moment,  however,  a  mounted 
brave  galloped  in  from  the  forest  and  drew  rein  be 
fore  the  chief  with  a  sharp,  warning  exclamation 
that  was  echoed  by  every  tongue.  Even  Cal  ex 
claimed  aloud :  "Mexicans?  Cavalry?  Rancheros? 
What  next?" 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

LEAVING  THE   BAD-MEDICINE   CAMP. 

THE  camp  in  the  chaparral  at  Cold  Spring  was 
astir  before  daylight  that  next  morning.  Every 
soul  seemed  to  want  a  look  at  the  Manitou  Water, 
as  well  as  a  drink  of  it,  immediately  upon  waking. 
Tongue  after  tongue  declared,  in  English,  Spanish, 
or  Apache :  "Just  as  it  was  before,  only  it  runs  a 
little  stronger."  That  is,  the  avalanche  had  raised 
the  level  of  the  water  in  the  mountain  reservoir  and 
the  pressure  was  greater.  Every  season  must  have 
witnessed  very  much  the  same  changes  in  the  conduct 
of  Cold  Spring,  but,  as  a  rule,  without  any  human 
eyes  to  take  note  of  them.  The  sage-hens,  the 
jackass  rabbits  and  the  antelopes  had  kept  no  record. 

Cal's  father  was  a  sad-hearted  man  when  he 
mounted  his  big  black  horse.  He  was  turning  his 
face  homeward  without  Cal,  and  he  almost  forgot 
that  he  had  come  in  search  of  stolen  horses. 

Ping  and  Tah-nu-nu  were  given  their  own  ponies, 
and  were  as  ready  for  a  start  as  was  anybody  else. 
As  they  reached  the  path-opening  by  which  they  were 
to  go  away,  they  turned  and  took  a  long  look  at  the 
Manitou  Water.  It  flowed  on  steadily,  without  a 
jump  of  any  sort. 

"Ugh!"  said  Ping.     ';Manitou  sleep." 

Colonel  Evans  and  his  cowboys,  Captain  Moore 
and  his  cavalry,  all  did  the  same  thing,  but  not  one 

210 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  211 

of  them  made  the  same  remark.  The  three  remain 
ing  Chiricahua  scouts  also  looked,  and  the  old  brave 
who  had  told  stories  to  Ping  and  Tah-nu-nu  shook 
his  head,  saying  something  about  Kah-go-mish  and 
bad  medicine.  He  was  thinking  of  the  fourth  Chiri 
cahua  who  had  been  the  first  man  of  that  expedition 
to  drink  of  the  bubbling  snow-water. 

"Have  you  any  idea  when  or  where  we  shall  get 
our  next  news  of  Cal?"  asked  Captain  Moore,  as  he 
rode  along  at  the  head  of  his  column. 

"No,"  said  Colonel  Evans,  "but  you  can  count 
upon  one  thing,  they  will  try  to  steal  away  Ping  and 
Tah-nu-nu.  Every  movement  must  be  watched. 
Kah-go-mish  and  his  band  are  far  enough  away  by 
this  time." 

The  keenest  calculations  are  sometimes  at  fault. 
A  sharp  gallop  of  three  or  four  hours  across  the 
desert  might  have  brought  a  rider  from  the  chapar 
ral  very  near  the  camp  of  the  Apaches.  If  the  pale 
faces,  moreover,  knew  nothing  of  the  movements  or 
plans  of  the  chief,  he  did  not  propose  to  be  equally 
ignorant  of  their  own.  Hardly  were  they  well  away 
from  the  spring  before  something  began  to  stir 
under  the  bushes  behind  the  great  cactus  on  the  west 
ern  side  of  the  open.  Then  a  human  head  became 
visible,  and  in  a  minute  more  a  tall  Apache  warrior 
was  stalking  around  the  spring  as  if  he  were  trying 
to  find  anything  which  the  pale-faces  might  have  left 
behind  them.  He  was  in  no  manner  disposed  to  talk 
to  himself,  and  his  inspection  was  soon  completed. 
After  that,  a  half-mile  of  walking  through  the  chap 
arral  brought  him  to  a  bush  where  one  of  the  stolen 
Evans  horses  was  tied.  He  mounted  and  rode  away, 


212  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

and  when  he  left  the  chaparral  he  did  not  take  the 
trail  which  the  band  had  before  followed,  but  struck 
off  across  the  desert  in  a  southeasterly  direction. 

If  he  had  any  intention  of  going  back  to  the  "bad- 
medicine  camp-ground,"  he  was  making  a  mistake, 
because  the  lodges  of  Kah-go-mish  were  no  longer 
there.  The  Apache  scout  who  came  hurrying  in, 
after  the  hurricane  was  over  and  just  before  sunset 
the  previous  evening,  had  been  very  near  to  not  get 
ting  in  at  all.  He  had  been  all  but  intercepted  by  a 
strong  column  of  Mexican  horsemen.  The  storm 
had  helped  him  to  escape  from  them,  but  beyond  all 
doubt  he  would  be  followed. 

"Kah-go-mish  is  a  great  chief!"  loudly  exclaimed 
the  Mescalero  statesman,  and  he  added  his  own  ex 
planation  of  this  new  peril.  These  were  not  the 
Mexicans  who  had  lost  the  pack-mules;  not  the 
command  of  Colonel  Romero.  They  were  probably 
the  very  force  which  had  made  a  target  of  him  as  he 
stood  so  heroically  upon  the  bowlder,  and  into  whose 
camp  he  had  afterwards  so  daringly  ventured  after 
horses  and  plunder. 

He  knew  that  they  were  numerous,  and  he  had  no 
thought  of  fighting  them.  It  was  too  late  and  too 
dark,  he  said,  to  begin  any  march  that  evening,  but 
every  lodge  must  come  down,  every  pack  must  be 
made  ready,  and  the  band  must  move  before 
daylight. 

Cal  had  no  idea  how  narrow  had  been  his  own 
escape  from  the  cruel  results  of  Indian  superstition, 
but  he  had  overheard  enough  to  understand  the  pres 
ent  flurry  and  the  packing.  He  sat  down,  not  far 
from  one  of  the  rekindled  camp-fires,  and  watched 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  213 

the  proceedings.  It  made  him  feel  bluer  than  ever 
to  know  that  civilized  soldiers  were  so  very  near. 
He  saw  his  cougar  brought  in  and  skinned,  and  he 
ate  a  piece  of  the  broiled  meat  cooked  for  him  by 
Wah-wah-o-be.  The  moon  arose  and  looked  down 
through  the  tree-tops,  but  Cal  did  not  feel  like  sleep 
ing,  although  his  wet  clothing  had  ceased  to  steam, 
and  he  felt  almost  dry. 

The  lodges  were  all  down  at  last,  and  everything 
seemed  quiet,  when  there  came  to  Cal's  ears  pre 
cisely  the  same  boding  hoot  that  had  sounded  among 
the  cypress  branches  above  him  when  he  was  staked 
out. 

"Must  be  the  biggest  kind  of  an  owl,"  he  mut 
tered,  but  instantly  he  heard  just  such  a  sound  again 
very  near  him. 

He  turned  to  look  for  the  second  owl,  and  there 
he  stood,  with  one  hand  at  his  mouth,  for  this  owl 
was  Kah-go-mish,  and  he  was  distributing  news  and 
orders  among  his  band. 

There  were  rapid  movements  in  all  directions 
after  that  hooting.  Pack-mules  were  led  in.  Squaws 
toiled  hard  and  warriors  worked  like  so  many 
squaws.  The  horses  of  Kah-go-mish  were  led  to  the 
spot  where  his  lodge  had  been,  and  one  of  them, 
bridled  but  without  any  saddle,  was  assigned  to  Cal 
with  orders  to  mount  at  once.  He  had  hardly  done 
so  before  he  heard  near  him  a  whinny  that  he  knew. 

"Dick,"  he  said,  "old  fellow!  Don't  I  wish  I 
were  on  your  back !" 

His  own  saddle  was  there,  and  his  own  rifle  and 
some  other  weapons  were  strapped  to  it.  Other 
property  was  securely  fastened  upon  them,  and  for 


214  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

that  journey,  at  least,  the  red  mustang  had  been 
turned  into  a  pack-pony.  He  seemed  to  almost  feel 
humiliated  and  downcast,  but  was  otherwise  in  his 
usual  condition,  so  far  as  his  master  could  see. 

Hoot !  Hoot !  Hoot !  came  the  owl  cries  from 
the  forest  westward,  and  the  braves  in  charge  of  the 
shadowy  train  began  to  urge  it  forward. 

"Pull  Stick,  look!" 

It  was  the  voice  of  Crooked  Nose,  and  he  was 
tapping  his  carbine  meaningly. 

Cal  nodded,  but  did  not  speak,  for  he  understood 
the  warning.  His  life  was  hanging  by  a  thread,  and 
he  was  in  need  of  all  the  caution  he  possessed. 

Every  camp-fire  was  heaped  high  with  fuel  before 
it  was  left  behind,  and  the  forest  was  all  the  darker 
by  contrast.  The  Apaches  managed  to  pick  their 
way,  with  the  aid  of  torches.  It  did  not  seem  to  Cal 
that  they  had  ridden  far  before  the  trees  grew  thin 
ner,  and  there  was  more  moonlight.  Then  there 
were  no  trees;  a  little  farther  on  and  there  were  no 
bushes;  all  was  plain  enough  then,  for  the  bare 
desert  was  reached,  and  Cal  knew  by  the  stars  that 
the  band  was  heading  in  an  easterly  direction  well 
out  from  the  line  of  timber. 

Hardly  had  he  said  to  himself,  "Kah-go-mish  got 
away  in  time,  anyhow,"  before  he  heard  a  muffled 
tumult  in  the  forest  behind  him.  Every  animal  in 
the  train  was  pushed  more  rapidly. 

"Mexicans!"  exclaimed  Wah-wah-o-be.  "Find 
fire.  No  find  Kah-go-mish.  Ugh !" 

A  sharp  rattle  of  distant  musketry  offered  her  a 
sort  of  angry  reply,  but  it  only  drew  a  laugh  from 
Wah-wah-o-be. 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  215 

The  great  chief  she  admired  had  been  compelled 
to  hurry  up  his  plans,  but  he  had  not  been  caught  in 
the  surprise  skilfully  prepared  for  him  by  the  Mexi 
can  commander.  That  officer  had  acted  with  energy 
and  good  judgment.  He  had  determined  to  attack 
.the  Apaches  in  their  camp  at  night,  and  he  had  not 
wasted  an  hour.  He  had  deserved  success,  but  he 
had  not  won  it.  The  Apache  owls  had  defeated  him. 

As  the  silent  Mexican  columns  worked  their  slow 
way  through  the  forest,  they  had  remarked  upon  the 
uncommon  number  and  wakefulness  of  those  night- 
birds.  They  were  in  three  divisions,  dismounted  for 
better  work  in  the  woods,  and  each  division  met  its 
own  owls,  or  seemed  to.  They  saw  the  glare  of  the 
camp-fires  and  moved  more  slowly,  with  greater  cau 
tion,  in  excellent  order,  until  they  had  all  but  sur 
rounded  the  bad-medicine  camp-ground.  A  bugle- 
note  gave  them  a  signal  for  a  simultaneous  shout, 
and  they  shouted.  Another  bade  them  fire  a  volley 
towards  the  camp-fires,  and  they  fired  it.  A  third 
bugle  sounded  the  charge,  and  the  Mexicans  dashed  • 
in  magnificently.  If  there  had  been  any  Apaches 
there,  not  an  Indian  could  have  escaped,  or  at  least 
not  a  pony  or  a  lodge. 

"Kah-go-mish  has  gone  I"  roared  the  disappointed 
officer,  and  his  entire  command  agreed  with  him, 
but  not  a  soul  of  them  all  could  guess  in  what  direc 
tion,  by  any  light  that  the  chief  had  left  behind  him. 

As  for  Cal  Evans,  he  had  received  an  important 
lesson  concerning  the  ways  and  wiles  of  Indian  war 
fare,  and  his  own  escape  seemed  more  impossible 
than  before. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

TAH-NU-NU'S  DISAPPOINTMENT. 

SANTA  LUCIA  seemed  to  be  under  a  cloud,  in 
spite  of  the  bright  June  weather.  Vic  grew 
more  and  more  uneasy,  and  did  not  try  to  conceal  it. 
She  was  not  able  to  understand  how  her  mother 
maintained  such  an  external  appearance  of  self- 
possession. 

"I  wish  we  had  two  letters  a  day  from  them,"  she 
exclaimed  for  the  third  or  fourth  time. 

"One  would  satisfy  me.  Oh  dear !  Why  can't 
we  know  something  about  them!"  responded  Mrs. 
Evans,  and  the  broken  serenity  helped  Vic. 

Perhaps  it  was  as  well  that  no  letter  came,  since 
any  written  from  Cold  Spring  would  have  carried  the 
dark  tidings  which  Colonel  Evans  was  bringing  home 
with  him. 

Captain  Moore  made  a  push  that  morning 
straight  across  the  desert,  that  he  might  reach  water 
and  pasturage  before  noon  if  possible.  The  sun 
was  hot,  and  frequent  halts  were  needful  for  the 
horses,  but  the  forced  march  was  made  with  perfect 
success. 

"Well,  boys,"  exclaimed  the  captain,  at  last,  "I'm 
glad  to  see  grass  again." 

"Seven  hours,"  the  sergeant  responded,  "is  a 
216 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  217 

sharp  pull,  captain;  how  far  do  you  think  we've 

rnme  ?" 


come 


"Twenty-five  miles  of  gravel,"  said  the  captain. 
"There!  Glad  of  that P 

A  whoop  from  a  Chiricahua  scout,  in  advance, 
announced  at  that  moment  that  water  had  been 
found.  It  was  a  tree-shaded  pool,  evidently  fed  by 
springs.  Around  it  was  a  bit  of  forest,  and  outside 
of  that  were  scattered  patches  of  chaparral. 

"Well  on  my  way  home  !"  groaned  Colonel  Evans, 
"and  Cal  is  not  with  me." 

Through  all  that  weary  ride  Ping  and  Tah-nu-nu 
had  plodded  along  cheerfully.  They  had  talked  with 
anybody  who  wished  to  have  a  chat,  and  had  given 
no  token  of  discontent.  They  did  not  look  at  all  like 
a  pair  of  plotters,  but  they  had  conferred  much  in 
their  own  tongue  when  no  Chiricahua  was  within 
hearing.  They  had  plenty  of  opportunities,  for 
those  three  red-men  had  undergone  a  change.  Even 
the  story-teller  had  been  moody  and  silent  ever  since 
the  great  spirt  of  the  Manitou  Water. 

Although  of  another  band,  which  had  become 
nominally  friendly  to  the  pale-faces,  the  Chiricahuas 
were  as  much  Apaches  as  were  the  Mescaleros,  and 
had  been  every  way  as  bitterly  opposed  to  life  on  any 
Reservation.  Their  present  friendship  was  with 
American  blue-coats  only,  and  not  with  Mexicans, 
and  Kah-go-mish  had  smitten  their  old  enemies  in  a 
way  to  merit  their  approbation.  All  that,  and  their 
traditions  and  superstitions,  laid  a  capital  foundation 
for  the  Manitou  Water  to  work^  upon.  To  their 
minds  they  had  been  notified  that  it  was  "bad  medi 
cine"  for  them  to  do  anything  against  Kah-go-mish 


218  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

upon  his  present  war-path.  If  they  were  ever  to  kill 
him,  it  must  be  at  some  future  time  when  things  were 
going  against  him  and  his  medicine  was  defective. 

Stronger  and  stronger  grew  the  pressure  of  the 
vague  ideas  that  took  possession  of  the  minds  of  the 
three  scouts.  They  even  looked  hard  at  the  pool  of 
water  they  now  led  their  horses  to,  as  if  this  also 
might  present  some  supernatural  tokens.  They  had 
been  there  before,  and  they  now  found  nothing  new, 
but  they  felt  as  if  they  did,  and  each  in  turn  re 
marked,  "Bad  medicine."  Something  rippled  the 
water  away  out  in  the  middle.  Perhaps  it  was  a  fish, 
perhaps  it  was  a  frog  or  a  snake  or  a  water-rat,  or 
it  may  be  that  an  old  ripple  had  been  tied  up  at  the 
bottom  and  had  just  broke  loose  and  come  up  for  air. 
Whatever  it  may  have  been,  the  old  story-teller 
winced  when  he  saw  it. 

"Ugh!"  he  said.  "More  manitou.  Chiricahua 
no  fight  Kah-go-mish.  Bad  medicine." 

None  of  the  white  men  overheard  that  remark, 
and  none  of  them  dreamed  of  watching  Chiricahuas 
after  what  had  occurred  at  the  spring.  The  feud 
between  the  two  bands  was  supposed  to  be  more 
bitter  than  ever. 

It  was  decided  by  Captain  Moore  that  several 
miles  must  be  added  to  the  day's  journey  as  soon  as 
the  horses  had  fed  and  were  rested,  in  order  that 
something  might  be  done  towards  catching  up  with 
the  possible  movements  of  Kah-go-mish. 

Ping  and  Tah-nu-nu  mounted  their  ponies,  but 
just  before  they  did  so  the  old  Chiricahua  came  and 
seemed  to  be  spinning  to  them  some  of  his  yarns.  It 
must  have  had  reference  to  the  pool,  for  he  pointed 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  219 

at  it,  and  both  of  them  nodded  as  if  it  were  an  inter 
esting  story. 

No  story  of  the  past  had  been  told,  but  one  of  the 
immediate  future  had  been  suggested.  In  fact,  it 
was  all  carefully  planned  out,  and  all  that  remained 
was  to  act  it  out,  for  there  was  no  one  there  to 
write  it. 

The  intention  of  the  cavalry  and  cowboys  was  to 
take  things  easy  that  afternoon,  and  they  rode  on  in 
a  long,  straggling  cavalcade,  among  groves  of  trees, 
reaches  of  grass,  clumps  of  bushes,  and  occasional 
bits  of  rocky  ground,  while  away  to  the  south  were 
evidently  mountains  such  as  Kah-go-mish  led  his 
band  through  after  his  great  feat  in  the  character  of 
a  log  with  a  knot  on  it. 

Up  to  this  time  Ping  and  Tah-nu-nu  had  hardly 
been  separated  for  a  moment,  but  now  he  seemed 
willing  to  lag  towards  the  rear,  talking  with  the  old 
Chiricahua,  while  she  rode  forward  with  the  others, 
as  if  she  too  had  become  a  scout.  If  any  white  man 
had  suspected  them  of  a  purpose  of  getting  away, 
the  suspicion  disappeared  when  this  was  seen. 

Colonel  Evans  had  no  suspicion  concerning 
Tah-nu-nu  or  the  two  Chiricahuas,  but  he  almost 
wanted  to  put  away  his  thoughts  of  Cal,  and  he 
pushed  his  big  black  horse  on  alongside  of  her  pony. 
There  were  flashes  in  her  dark  eyes  and  there  were 
tightenings  of  her  lips,  and  now  and  then  she  glanced 
right  and  left  half  excitedly.  She  drew  her  breath 
very  hard  and  glanced  at  the  Chiricahuas  as  she  and 
the  colonel  rode  past  a  rugged  patch  of  craggy  for- 
est  His  face  was  as  if  made  of  wood,  but  he  said 
"Ugh!" 


220  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

The  whip  in  Tah-nu-nu's  hand  fell  sharply  upon 
her  pony's  flank.  It  was  a  blow  given  in  utter  vexa 
tion,  rather  than  purposely,  but  the  pony  sprang 
forward  all  the  same.  So  did  the  big  black,  and  the 
strong  hand  of  Colonel  Evans  reined  in  the  pony. 

"No,  Tah-nu-nu,"  he  said,  "you  can't  get  away." 

"Ping  is  the  son  of  a  great  chief!"  she  exclaimed, 
angrily.  "Got  away!  Whoop!  Heap  good!  Tah- 
nu-nu  stay!  Die!  No  pale-face !" 

She  was  intensely  excited,  her  dark,  regular  fea 
tures  were  flushed,  and  the  colonel  said  to  himself 
that  she  looked  like  another  girl.  All  three  of  the 
Chiricahuas  were  with  him  at  that  moment.  Not 
one  of  them  took  any  notice  of  Tah-nu-nu's  utter 
ances,  but  the  colonel  straightened  in  the  saddle. 
"Boys,"  he  shouted  to  the  nearest  men  behind  him, 
"where's  that  young  'Pache?  Go  for  him!  The 
girl's  been  trying  to  escape!" 

Men  in  blue  uniforms  and  men  in  red  shirts 
wheeled  at  once,  shouting  to  others  farther  in  the 
rear.  The  whole  line  wheeled  and  shouted  and 
searched  hither  and  thither,  and  not  any  were  more 
active  than  were  the  three  Chiricahuas. 

It  was  all  in  vain.  There  was  not  a  trace  to  be 
found  of  The-boy-whose-ear-pushed-away-a-piece-of- 
lead. 

Tah-nu-nu  was  suffering  a  terrible  disappoint 
ment,  and  so  was  somebody  else.  Colonel  Evans  felt 
badly  enough,  but  his  caprice  for  a  chat  with  Tah- 
nu-nu  had  prevented  the  superstitious  Chiricahuas 
from  entirely  avoiding  the  "bad  medicine"  of  Kah- 
go-mish.  Part  of  it  had  been  put  away  when  the  old 
story-teller,  riding  by  Ping's  side,  had  remarked, 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  221 

"Ugh!  Heap  bush."  He  came  out  of  that  bit  of 
chaparral  all  alone,  and,  for,  some  reason,  Ping 
knew  where  he  ought  to  expect  a  meeting  with  Tah- 
nu-nu.  He  did  not  at  once  walk  his  pony  as  the  rest 
were  doing,  but  galloped  hard  for  quite  a  distance. 
He  made  a  wide  circuit  in  advance  and  at  last  dis 
mounted  upon  the  summit  of  a  ledgy  hill,  among 
crags  and  forest  trees.  Here  he  could  look  down 
and  see  what  occurred,  and  almost  hear  what  was 
said  as  the  cavalcade  went  by. 

"Heap  rock!"  he  had  exclaimed.  "Now  Tah- 
nu-nu  come." 

Then  he  saw  why  she  did  not,  could  not  come, 
and  his  disappointment  was  as  bitter  as  any  human 
disappointment  well  could  be.  A  light  which  had 
grown  in  his  dark  young  face  faded  from  it.  He 
hung  his  head  almost  listlessly  as  he  wheeled  his 
pony  southward.  He  had  escaped  and  he  could  not 
return  into  captivity,  but  Tah-nu-nu  was  still  a  pris 
oner.  What  should  he  say  to  Kah-go-mish  and 
Wah-wah-o-be  ?  That  is,  indeed,  if  he  should  suc 
ceed  in  finding  his  own  perilous  way  to  the  lodges  of 
his  band. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

HAND  TO   HAND  BY   FIRELIGHT. 

COLONEL  EVANS  and  Captain  Moore  were 
^*  vexed  more  deeply  than  they  could  have  told 
by  the  escape  of  Ping.  How  it  had  been  accom 
plished  was  a  mystery.  It  was  of  no  use  whatever 
to  lay  the  blame  upon  the  Chiricahuas,  or  to  ask 
them  any  questions.  Each  had  been  able  to  render 
a  seemingly  good  account  of  himself,  and  each  had 
taken  the  occasion  to  declare  his  undying  enmity  to 
Kah-go-mish  and  all  his  band.  They  did  not  tell 
how  much  better  they  felt,  now  that  Ping's  part  of 
the  "bad  medicine"  which  threatened  them  had  gal 
loped  away. 

As  for  Tah-nu-nu,  she  had  never  before  known 
what  it  was  to  feel  lonesome.  So  long  as  Ping  had 
been  in  the  camp  she  had  been  able  to  keep  up  her 
spirits,  but  now  even  her  pride  almost  broke  down, 
and  if  she  had  not  been  the  daughter  of  a  great  chief 
she  could  have  cried  about  it  all. 

One  of  the  two  securities  for  Cal's  safe  return 
having  disappeared,  there  was  sure  to  be  greater  care 
taken  of  the  other.  Sam  Herrick  had  probably 
never  said  "Colorado !"  more  emphatically  than  he 
did  when  he  added:  "Well,  now,  I'd  like  to  see  that 
gal  git  away.  She  won't!" 

Cal  should  have  had  still  greater  security  held  for 

222 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  223 

him  by  his  friends  instead  of  less,  for  the  events  of 
the  previous  night  had  by  no  means  ended  when  the 
squaw  and  pack-mule  part  of  the  Apache  encamp 
ment  succeeded  in  getting  out  into  the  open  desert. 

The  Mexican  commander  had  made  all  his  plans 
with  caution  as  well  as  with  skill,  and  their  nature 
had  been  but  imperfectly  reported  to  Kah-go-mish. 
That  chief  knew  that  his  assailants  were  drawing 
near  the  camp,  through  the  woods,  on  foot,  in  three 
detachments.  He  knew  that  each  body  of  soldiers 
was  too  strong  for  him  to  face,  and  that  all  had  been 
cavalry  before  they  dismounted.  He  was  sure, 
therefore,  that  away  in  the  rear  of  all  must  be  a 
drove  of  several  hundreds  of  horses.  What  he  did 
not  calculate  upon  was  the  strength  and  vigilance  of 
the  detachment  left  in  charge  of  those  horses. 

When,  therefore,  the  Apache  camp  was  aban 
doned,  and  all  its  treasures  of  quadrupeds  and  stores 
had  been  hurried  out  of  harm's  way,  Kah-go-mish 
did  not  go  with  his  family  and  household  goods. 
He  and  a  score  of  his  best  warriors  rode  away  upon 
an  errand  worthy  of  so  great  a  commander.  They 
made  a  wide  circuit,  along  the  edge  of  the  plain, 
entered  the  deep  forest  once  more,  dismounted,  tied 
their  horses,  and  pushed  rapidly  forward  on  foot. 
They  were  in  the  rear  of  the  attacking  columns,  and 
were  very  near  to  the  rear-guard  and  its  drove  when 
the  Mexicans  dashed  in  upon  the  camp. 

Creeping  from  tree  to  tree,  nearer  and  nearer,  the 
chief  and  his  chosen  braves  reached  the  right  spot 
and  were  entirely  ready  for  the  dash  which  they  also 
had  prepared  at  the  moment  when  they  heard  the 
rattling  volleys,  the  shouts,  and  the  bugle-calls. 


224  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

Small  fires  had  been  kindled  by  the  Mexican  rear 
guard,  and  there  were  torches  here  and  there,  but 
these  were  not  enough.  The  darkness  was  still  suffi 
cient  to  conceal  from  the  creeping  Apaches  the  fact 
that  the  Mexican  commander  had  left  a  hundred 
men  to  guard  his  precious  quadrupeds.  He  had 
stationed  them  well,  also,  and  they  were  on  the  alert 
for  Indians. 

Loud  rang  the  war-whoops  of  Kah-go-mish  and 
his  daring  followers,  and  their  rifles  cracked  rapidly 
for  a  half-minute  before  they  sprang  out  of  their 
cover.  Not  many  bullets  could  be  expected  to  reach 
a  human  mark  by  firelight  and  torchlight.  Very  few 
soldiers  were  touched,  but  quite  a  number  of  horses 
received  wounds  which  made  them  give  tenfold  effect 
to  the  panic  and  fright  produced  by  the  yells  and 
rifle-reports.  Neighing,  kicking,  screaming,  the  en 
tire  drove  broke  loose  as  the  Apaches  dashed  in 
among  them,  and  the  shadowy  woods  around  were 
full  of  trampling  hoofs. 

As  a  military  manoeuvre,  the  plan  of  Kah-go-mish 
had  thus  far  been  a  complete  success,  for  he  wanted 
only  a  stampede,  and  had  no  idea  of  capturing  any 
of  those  horses.  There,  however,  his  success  ended. 
The  drove  was  scattered,  so  that  there  could  be  no 
immediate  pursuit  of  him  and  his,  but  the  Mexican 
militia  had  not  been  stampeded.  They  stood  their 
ground  like  brave  fellows,  and  closed  in  at  once  upon 
the  whooping  red-men. 

Bitter  was  the  wrath  of  Kah-go-mish,  for  he  found 
himself  outnumbered  several  times.  Half  of  his 
own  warriors  had  instantly  disappeared  among  the 
trees,  as  was  their  duty.  The  other  half  went  down 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  225 

around  him,  man  by  man,  whooping,  firing  swift  and 
deadly  shots,  but  well  aware  that  for  once  their 
trusted  leader  had  led  them  into  a  death-trap. 

There  came  a  lurid  moment  when  he  stood  alone, 
m  front  of  one  of  the  blazing  heaps  of  light-wood, 
surrounded  on  all  sides  by  men  who  had  drawn  their 
sabres^because  they  could  not  use  firearms  for  fear 
of  hitting  one  another. 

Calm  and  ringing  was  the  whoop  of  defiance  with 
which  he  stood  at  bay,  a  revolver  in  one  hand  and  a 
bowie-knife  in  the  other. 

"Kah-go-mish  is  a  great  chief !"  he  shouted. 

Another  whoop  sprang  to  his  lips,  but  it  was  not 
completed.  There  were  flashes  of  steel  blades  in  the 
shadows  around  him,  and  he  fell  heavily  upon  the 
grass. 

The  Mexican  commander  was  as  much  astonished 
by  the  sounds  of  battle  behind  him  as  he  had  been 
by  the  deserted  condition  of  the  camp  he  had  in 
tended  to  surprise.  He  ordered  his  three  detach 
ments  to  wheel  at  once,  but  they  were  impeded  by 
the  part  of  the  stampeded  drove  which  rushed  in 
their  direction.  There  were  shouts  and  exclamations 
all  along  the  line  as  the  frightened  animals  broke 
through,  but  the  officers  held  their  men  well  in  hand 
and  pushed  steadily  forward.  It  was  all  a  riddle 
until  they  marched  out  at  the  line  of  corral  camp- 
fires.  There  were  the  rear-guard,  drawn  up  in  per 
fect  order,  except  a  few  who  were  out  in  the  woods 
gathering  horses,  and  a  few  who  were  wounded, 
and  a  few  more  who  would  never  mount  again. 

Explanations  were  promptly  made,  and  the  officer 
commanding  the  rear-guard  was  warmly  commended. 


226  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

"The  Apache  chief  fell,"  he  said.  "Kah-go-mish." 

"What?"  exclaimed  the  commander.  "Kah-go- 
mish?  That  is  enough.  It  was  worth  what  it  cost." 

An  hour  or  so  later  all  that  was  left,  a  dozen  out 
of  the  score  who  had  ridden  with  the  chief,  caught  up 
with  their  band.  They  came  in  silence  until  they 
were  very  near.  The  entire  train  halted,  and  a  sort 
of  shudder  seemed  to  run  through  it.  Not  so  should 
a  war-party  have  returned,  under  the  leadership  of 
Kah-go-mish.  There  should  have  been  a  well- 
known  voice,  sounding  its  accustomed  whoop  of 
triumph.  Instead  of  it  another  voice  arose,  long 
drawn  and  mournfully.  It  was  the  death-whoop  of 
the  Apaches,  and  it  was  answered  by  a  woman's  in 
voluntary  wail,  for  Wah-wah-o-be  knew  that  the  sig 
nal  had  been  given  for  Kah-go-mish. 

Crooked  Nose  had  not  been  with  the  chief's  party, 
but  had  ridden  by  Cal  as  a  special  keeper.  The  in 
stant  he  heard  the  death-whoop  he  turned  to  his 
charge  and  said,  in  a  not  unfriendly  manner:  "Pull 
stick  got  bad  manitou.  Ugh!  All  Apache  heap 
mad.  Heap  kill.  Great  chief  gone  dead.  All  pale 
face  die.  Heap  bad  medicine." 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

HOW  CAL  WAS  LEFT  ALL   ALONE. 

ALL  that  Crooked  Nose  had  said  about  the  grief 
and  wrath  of  the  Apaches  over  the  loss  of 
Kah-go-mish  was  true,  but  Cal  seemed  for  a  few 
hours  to  be  almost  forgotten. 

"Tan-tan-e-o-tan  is  a  great  chief,"  said  the  warrior 
upon  whom  the  direction  of  affairs  appeared  as  a 
matter  of  course  to  fall. 

He  was  the  short,  intoed,  bow-legged  brave  who 
had  been  accustomed  to  command  in  the  now  dead 
leader's  absence,  and  he  had  never  yet  told  anybody 
how  much  he  envied  and  hated  Kah-go-mish.  His 
first  duty  was  to  get  away  from  the  Mexicans  with 
out  losing  any  more  braves  or  horses,  and  there  was 
no  time  for  mourning.  He  then  saw  before  him  an 
immediate  path  to  safety  if  not  to  glory,  and  he  de 
termined  to  follow  it.  He  did  not  know  that  he  had 
determined  to  carry  out  the  great  plan  of 
Kah-go-mish. 

Very  faint  and  difficult  to  find  or  follow  was  the 
trail  left  upon  the  sun-baked,  wind-swept  gravel  of 
the  plains  by  the  dejected  Mescalero  cavalcade.  It 
was  several  hours  before  Tan-tan-e-o-tan  and  his 
warriors  deemed  it  safe  to  turn  again  towards  the 
line  of  forest  and  find  a  new  camp-ground. 

They  knew  that  they  were  in  no  immediate  dan- 
227 


228  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

ger,  for  the  Mexican  cavalry  could  undertake  no 
pursuit  that  night.  Even  when  morning  came  a  large 
part  of  the  horses  Kah-go-mish  had  stampeded  were 
yet  roving  through  the  woods.  Scouting  parties 
were  sent  out  in  all  directions,  however,  and  a  courier 
was  hurried  away  with  the  news  of  the  destruction 
of  the  dangerous  chief  and  of  the  eight  warriors  who 
had  fallen  with  him.  Unlucky  Colonel  Romero,  two 
days'  journey  westward,  was  at  the  same  hour  pen 
ning  a  sad  despatch  announcing  the  loss  of  his  mules 
and  supplies. 

Tah-nu-nu  once  more  awoke  as  a  prisoner  in  the 
hands  of  the  pale-faces,  and  the  first  thought  which 
came  to  her  was  that  Ping  was  gone  and  that  she 
was  alone.  A  remarkably  good  breakfast  was  pro 
vided  for  her,  and  while  she  was  eating  it  she  heard 
Captain  Moore  say,  with  emphasis:  "You  are  right, 
Colonel  Evans.  Your  best  plan  is  to  strike  for  home 
by  the  shortest  road.  You  won't  hear  one  word 
more  about  Cal  before  you  get  there.  What  Kah- 
go-mish  means  is  plain.  He  wants  to  keep  as  many 
of  your  horses  as  he  can  and  trade  your  boy  for  his 
girl.  He  can't  stay  in  Mexico.  You'll  hear  from 
him  at  Santa  Lucia.  My  trip  is  ended  and  I'm  will 
ing  to  push  as  fast  as  ever  you  wish." 

Tah-nu-nu  asked  the  Chiricahuas  about  it  soon 
afterwards,  and  then  she  knew  that  she  was  to  be 
taken  to  the  lodge  of  the  long  cowboy  chief,  and  kept 
there  until  Kah-go-mish  should  come  and  pay  ponies 
for  her.  It  was  an  awful  thing  for  an  Indian  girl 
to  think  of,  but  there  was  no  help  for  it,  and  she 
mounted  her  pony,  sure  of  being  well  guarded.  It 
was  Sam  Herrick's  turn  or  Bill's,  to  ride  by  her  side 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  229 

whenever  the  colonel  was  not  there.  The  Chirica- 
huas  were  not  needed  any  more,  considering  what 
had  become  of  The-boy-whose-ear-pushed-away-a- 
piece-of-lead. 

They  did  not,  indeed,  know  what  had  become  of 
him.  Perhaps  the  old  Chiricahua  guessed  that  he 
had  been  hidden  among  the  "heap  rock"  bowlders 
and  crags  at  one  time,  and  knew  why  Tah-nu-nu  did 
not  join  him.  Even  for  the  dusky  scouts  all  was 
guess-work  beyond  that. 

Somewhat  so  had  it  been  to  Ping  himself,  but  he 
had  not  listened  to  all  the  wise  words  of  his  father 
and  the  elders  of  his  band  for  nothing.  Even  the 
stories  told  him  by  Wah-wah-o-be  had  been  full  of 
instruction.  From  one  of  these,  concerning  the  feats 
performed  by  a  great  brave  of  the  Apaches,  he  had 
derived  lessons  which  had  just  now  been  of  value  to 
him.  So  had  the  uncommon  size  of  the  Reservation- 
collection  trousers  which  had  fallen  to  his  share. 
Even  after  they  were  cut  off  at  the  knee  there  was 
room  in  them  for  another  boy  of  his  size.  The 
pockets  were  so  many  canvas  caves,  and  they  were 
pretty  well  filled.  Any  boy  knows  that  a  pocket  will 
hold  a  large  part  of  his  propertyjf  he  keeps  on  put 
ting  things  in,  and  Ping  had  put  in  everything  he  or 
Tah-nu-nu  could  lay  their  hands  on.  The  pale-faces 
had  his  bow  and  arrows,  but  he  had  collected  their 
full  value.  One  trouser  leg  concealed  a  bowie-knife 
and  the  other  a  revolver.  There  were  hooks  and 
lines  in  one  pocket  and  some  cartridges,  with  some 
hard-tack.  A  large  chunk  of  boiled  beef  was  in  an 
other,  and  it  was  plain  that  the  Chiricahuas  had 
done  something  to  prevent  a  famine  to  Ping  from 


230  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

bringing  upon  them  more  of  the  "bad  medicine"  of 
Kah-go-mish.  Unless  he  should  meet  with  enemies 
or  with  too  wide  a  desert,  Ping  was  fairly  well  pro 
vided  for  a  hunting  and  fishing  excursion.  He  had 
never  in  all  his  life  felt  so  proud  and  warrior-like  as 
when  he  rode  out  from  among  the  crags  and  wheeled 
his  pony  southward  to  find  the  trail  of  his  people. 
He  did  not  reach  it  that  day,  but  when  he  made  his 
lonely  camp-fire  at  night,  ate  for  supper  some  fish 
he  had  caught  and  the  last  of  his  chunk  of  beef,  he 
would  have  been  all  over  comfortable  and  satisfied 
if  only  Tah-nu-nu  had  been  with  him  instead  of  being 
a  long  day's  march  nearer  Santa  Lucia. 

That  same  night  was  by  no  means  so  comfortable 
for  Cal.  Tan-tan-e-o-tan  had  not  so  much  as  spoken 
to  him  all  day  long,  but  neither  had  he  spoken  to 
Wah-wah-o-be.  He  had  seemed  to  grow  haughtier 
and  more  gloomy  from  hour  to  hour,  and  had  given 
orders  as  if  he  had  been  Kah-go-mish  and  a  trifle 
more.  The  march  had  been  through  as  much  desert 
and  chaparral  and  rocky  ground  as  was  convenient, 
and  an  early  camp  was  made  in  order  that  the  four- 
footed  wealth  of  the  band  might  have  a  long  rest 
and  a  good  feed.  Tan-tan-e-o-tan  declared  that 
they  would  need  it,  since  the  next  day's  trail  would 
be  through  mountain-passes. 

"Good!"  said  Wah-wah-o-be.  "Do  what  Kah- 
go-mish  say.  Heap  bad  Indian.  Ugh!" 

The  band  had  lost  its  chief  and  some  warriors,  but 
it  was  rich  in  horses,  ponies,  and  mules.  Part  of 
these  were  doubtful  property  so  long  as  the  band 
remained  in  Mexico,  but  might  not  be  so  much  so  if 
carried  north  of  the  boundary  line.  The  Santa 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  231 

Lucia  quadrupeds,  on  the  other  hand,  had  no  Mexi 
can  claimant,  but  would  be  poor  property  in  the 
United  States.  These  facts  presented  serious  ques 
tions,  and  Tan-tan-e-o-tan  reflected  that  Pull  Stick 
was  the  only  person  in  his  camp  who  not  only  knew 
the  whole  story,  but  would  be  willing  to  tell  it  if  he 
had  a  chance  given  him.  There  was  much  talk 
among  the  leading  braves  that  night,  as  well  as  much 
mourning  for  Kah-go-mish  and  the  fallen  warriors. 
No  decision  was  reached,  and  Crooked  Nose  told 
Cal  that  every  friend  of  Wah-wah-o-be  and  her 
children  had  been  opposed  to  "Make  heap  fire  all 
over  Pull  Stick." 

Wah-wah-o-be  herself  was  too  full  of  grief  to  say 
anything,  and  Cal  was  left  with  a  pretty  clear  idea 
that  his  case  was  getting  darker.  It  was  not  easy 
to  keep  up  much  courage,  but  he  was  very  weary  in 
mind  and  body,  and  he  slept  as  well  as  any  fellow 
could,  lying  on  the  bare  ground  with  his  hands  tied 
behind.  He  was  untied  when  morning  came  in  order 
to  eat  his  breakfast,  and  he  was  busily  at  work  upon 
it  when  a  great  shout  at  the  other  side  of  the  camp 
was  answered  by  a  positive  yell  of  delight  from 
Wah-wah-o-be. 

"Ping!  Ping!"  she  screamed,  and  added  all  the 
syllables  of  his  best  name. 

There  was  a  grand  time  after  that,  and  The-boy- 
whose-ear-pushed-away-a-piece-of-lead  was  a  hero 
and  the  most  important  person  in  the  entire  camp. 
Even  Tan-tan-e-o-tan  considered  him  so  until  his  re 
port  was  made  as  to  what  the  blue-coats  and  cow 
boys  were  doing,  and  Wah-wah-o-be  did  not  give  it 
up  then.  She  was  comforted  concerning  Tah-nu-nu, 


232  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

while  Ping  listened  with  all  the  trained  steadiness  of 
an  Indian  brave  to  the  dark  tidings  of  the  death  of 
Kah-go-mish. 

He  listened  in  silence,  looking  at  Cal,  and  it  may 
be  that  he  had  in  his  mind  a  picture  of  the  first 
glimpse  which  he  and  Tah-nu-nu  had  had  of  the 
young  pale-face  horseman,  for  his  next  inquiry  was 
concerning  the  "heap  pony." 

Wah-wah-o-be  sprang  from  the  ground,  where 
she  had  seated  herself  for  her  recital.  She  darted 
away;  and  in  a  few  minutes  more  Cal  saw  her  return. 

Well  might  Ping's  delight  break  through  his 
grief,  for  with  one  bound  he  was  upon  the  back  of 
the  red  mustang.  Cal's  belt,  with  its  pistol  and 
cartridge  case,  his  repeating  rifle,  his  elegant  knife, 
even  his  Panama  hat,  were  duly  delivered  to  The- 
boy-whose-ear-pushed-away-a-piece-of-lead.  Saddle 
and  bridle  and  all,  Ping  had  taken  the  place  of  Pull 
Stick  as  the  master  of  the  swiftest,  toughest,  best 
mustang  in  all  southern  New  Mexico — just  now  in 
old  Mexico. 

Part  of  Ping's  news  had  been  that  he  had  seen  and 
been  seen  by  a  party  of  Mexican  cavalry.  There 
were  not  many  of  them,  apparently,  but  he  was  now 
summoned  to  pilot  some  braves  who  were  to  ride 
out  and  take  a  distant  look  at  them.  Proud  was  he, 
and  a  proud  squaw  was  Wah-wah-o-be  when  he  rode 
away  upon  the  red  mustang. 

It  was  a  dark  hour  for  Cal.  The  preparations 
for  breaking  camp  went  swiftly  on.  They  had  been 
nearly  completed  when  Ping  appeared,  and  now 
every  pony  and  mule  and  horse  was  soon  in  motion. 
No  pony  was  brought  for  Cal.  Instead  thereof  came 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  233 

Tan-tan-e-o-tan,  with  a  grim  scowl  upon  his  face. 
He  was  accompanied  by  a  pair  of  Apaches  as  merci 
less  as  himself,  and  they  had  plainly  determined  to 
put  away  the  one  witness  whose  memory  and  tongue 
were  dangerous  to  them.  They  did  not  see  fit  to  use 
lead  or  steel  or  fire,  but  Cal  was  more  securely 
staked  out  this  time.  No  twig  was  driven  into  a 
gopher  hole,  and  he  was  told,  "Pull  Stick  get  away 
now.  Ugh !  Medicine  gone." 

Their  task  accomplished,  they  remounted  and  rode 
away,  leaving  their  victim  alone  and  helpless  in  the 
shadowy  forest. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

RESCUED  BY  THE   RED  MUSTANG. 

THE  scouting  party  of  Mexican  cavalry  reported 
by  Ping  were  few  in  number,  and  were  a  long 
distance  from  any  support.  They  had  been  willing 
enough  to  follow  the  movements  of  a  solitary  Indian 
boy,  but  were  not  disposed  for  a  skirmish  with  the 
braves  who  now  rode  out  of  the  forest  behind 
Tan-tan-e-o-tan.  There  would  have  been  no  brush 
at  all  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  revengeful  tumult  in 
the  heart  of  Ping,  and  for  the  fact  that  he  was  so 
splendidly  armed  and  mounted. 

The  men  in  uniform  yonder  belonged  to  the  troops 
who  had  slain  Kah-go-mish,  and  Ping  shouted,  in 
Apache,  "I  am  the  son  of  a  great  chief!" 

He  disobeyed  a  warning  whoop  of  Tan-tan-e-o- 
tan,  for  he  was  bent  upon  riding  within  range,  and 
Dick  bore  him  swiftly  onward.  All  the  warlike 
thoughts  and  hopes  which  make  up  the  thoughts  of 
an  Indian  boy  were  dancing  wildly  around  in  his 
fevered  brain.  He  was  a  warrior,  facing  the  an 
cient  enemies  of  his  race,  the  men  who  had  killed 
his  father. 

Alas  for  Ping!  Range  for  him  was  also  range  for 
the  now  retreating  cavalry,  and  his  one  fruitless  shot 
was  replied  to  by  a  volley. 

234 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  235 

"Zst-ping!"  he  exclaimed,  involuntarily  shouting 
his  own  nickname,  as  the  bullets  whizzed  past  him, 
and  then  he  felt  suddenly  sick  and  dizzy.  One  ball 
had  not  gone  by. 

Dick  obeyed  the  rein  and  wheeled  towards  the 
forest,  but  after  that  he  was  left  to  his  own  guid 
ance.  Ping  was  not  unconscious,  and  he  clung 
proudly,  courageously  to  his  rifle — Cal's  repeater. 
He  held  on  to  the  pommel  of  the  saddle  with  one 
hand,  but  he  hardly  knew  more  than  that  he  was 
riding  the  "heap  pony" — riding,  riding,  riding — 
somewhere. 

Tan-tan-e-o-tan  alone  followed,  at  a  considerable 
distance,  the  wounded  son  of  Kah-go-mish,  the  other 
braves  dashing  away  at  once  to  join  the  band  upon 
its  eagerly  pushed  retreat  into  the  mountains. 

Under  the  shade  of  the  forest  trees,  near  the 
waning  camp-fire  at  which  Wah-wah-o-be  had  cooked 
his  breakfast,  lay  poor  Cal.  For  him,  apparently, 
all  hope  had  departed,  for  he  had  vainly  struggled 
to  loosen  the  forked  stakes  which  Held  down  his 
hands  and  his  feet. 

"I've  no  chance  to  pry,"  he  groaned,  "or  I  could 
do  it;"  but  then  that  is  the  very  reason  why  the  red- 
men  fasten  their  prisoners  in  that  manner.  Any  man 
can  pull  up  such  a  stick,  if  he  can  get  a  pry  at  it  or 
even  a  direct  pull. 

"I  shall  die  of  hunger  and  thirst  and  mosquito 
bites,"  he  said.  "It's  worse  than  killing  one  right 
off.  It's  as  bad  as  fire  could  be !" 

Just  then  he  heard  the  sound  of  a  horse's  feet, 
and  he  drew  his  breath  hard  as  he  listened.  Was  it 
one  of  the  Apaches  come  to  torture  him?  Could  it 


236  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

be  a  Mexican?  It  was  a  moment  of  awful  expecta 
tion,  and  then  he  exclaimed,  "Dick !" 

Dick  had  come,  and  he  had  found  his  way  to  the 
camp  he  had  left,  and  he  had  brought  home  his 
young  rider,  but  that  was  all,  for  Ping  reeled  in  the 
saddle  and  then  fell  heavily  to  the  earth.  He  was 
never  to  become  a  war-chief  of  the  Mescaleros.  His 
first  skirmish  had  been  his  last. 

"Dick!"  again  shouted  Cal,  and  the  faithful  fel 
low  at  once  walked  over  to  where  his  master  lay. 
He  seemed  to  understand  that  something  was  wrong 
with  Cal,  for  he  pawed  the  ground  and  neighed  and 
whinnied  as  if  asking,  "What  does  this  mean?" 
Dick's  eyes  had  an  excited  look,  and  his  ears  were 
moving  backward  and  forward,  nervously,  when 
again  there  was  a  sound  of  coming  hoofs.  Cal 
raised  his  head  and  saw  Tan-tan-e-o-tan  spring  from 
his  horse,  stoop  and  examine  poor  Ping. 

"Ugh!"  he  exclaimed.  "Heap  dead!"  A  whoop 
followed  instantly — a  fierce  and  angry  whoop. 

One  of  Dick's  pawing  forefeet  had  been  uninten 
tionally  put  down  close  by  Cal's  left  hand.  It  was  a 
quick  thought,  a  lightning  flash  of  hope,  which  led 
Cal  to  grasp  the  hoof  with  all  the  strength  he  had. 

Dick  lifted  his  foot,  and  oh,  how  Cal's  wrist  hurt 
him,  in  the  sudden,  hard  wrench  that  followed!  It 
was  his  last  chance  for  life  and  he  held  on,  and  the 
whoop  of  Tan-tan-e-o-tan  was  given  as  he  saw  the 
forked  stake  jerked  clean  out  of  the  ground. 

Forward,  with  another  yell,  sprang  the  angry 
savage,  drawing  his  knife  as  he  came,  but  that 
screech  was  too  much  for  the  nerves  of  the  red 
mustang.  Out  went  his  iron-shod  heels,  and  there 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  237 

was  a  sharp  thud  as  one  of  them  struck  between  the 
eyes  of  Tan-tan-e-o-tan. 

"Hurrah  for  Dick!"  shouted  Cal,  as  his  enemy 
rolled  over  and  over  upon  the  ferns  and  leaves. 
"That  fellow  won't  get  up  again." 

Cal  could  now  toil  away  with  his  lame  hand  to  set 
the  other  at  liberty.  After  that  he  was  glad  to  find 
his  knife  in  his  pocket,  for  one  of  his  ankle  stakes 
refused  to  come  up,  and  had  to  be  whittled  through. 
He  worked  with  feverish,  frantic  energy,  and  he 
barely  finished  his  task  in  time.  He  had  only  to 
whistle  for  Dick.  His  whole  body  seemed  to 
tremble  as  he  hurried  forward  to  regain  the  belt 
and  rifle  which  Wah-wah-o-be  had  so  proudly  given 
to  Ping.  The-boy-whose-ear-pushed-away-a-piece- 
of-lead  would  never  need  them  or  the  "heap  pony" 
any  more. 

Cal  did  not  mount,  but  led  Dick  away  into  the 
cover  of  the  forest. 

"We  should  be  seen  if  I  rode  away  now,"  he  said 
to  Dick. 

Hardly  was  he  well  concealed  behind  dense  bushes 
before,  as  he  peered  out,  he  saw  Wah-wah-o-be, 
followed  closely  by  Crooked  Nose,  gallop  into  the 
deserted  camp.  She  had  already  heard  that  Ping 
was  wounded,  but  not  how  badly,  and  she  threw 
herself  upon  the  ground  beside  him  with  a  great  cry. 
Crooked  Nose  bent  for  one  moment  over  Tan-tan- 
e-o-tan,  and  the  Apache  death-whoop  rang  twice, 
long  and  mournfully,  through  the  forest.  It  was 
followed  by  fierce  and  angry  utterances,  among 
which  Cal  caught  something  about  Mexicans,  and 
then  Crooked  Nose  looked  sharply  around  him. 


238  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

"Ugh!"  he  exclaimed.  "Heap  Pony  gone.  Pull 
Stick  gone !  Big  medicine.  Bad  manitou." 

Cal's  second  escape  was  plainly  a  greater  mystery 
than  the  first  had  been.  It  was  as  Crooked  Nose 
declared,  and  he  was  a  boy  whose  medicine  enabled 
him  to  get  out  of  tight  places. 

Cal  decided  that  it  was  time  for  him  to  get  away, 
lest  others  should  come,  for  he  did  not  know  how 
fast  the  band  was  retreating.  He  had  a  thought, 
too,  of  meeting  the  Mexicans  who  had  wounded 
Ping.  He  picked  his  way  carefully,  stealthily, 
among  the  trees,  followed  faithfully  by  Dick,  and  at 
the  outer  border  of  the  forest  he  mounted.  No 
Mexicans  were  in  sight,  nor  any  Indians,  and  he 
knew  that  beyond  the  broken  ground  before  him  lay 
the  desert.  What  he  did  not  know  was  that  his 
father  and  all  who  were  with  him  were  already  two 
days'  march  on  their  homeward  journey. 

"I  can  find  my  way  by  the  sun  and  by  the  stars," 
he  said  to  himself.  "I've  had  my  breakfast.  Dick 
can  have  some  grass  by  and  by.  I  may  kill  game  on 
the  way.  Never  mind  if  I  don't.  Santa  Lucia  is  off 
there  to  the  northeast.  Now,  Dick,  this  is  your  busi 
ness.  How  many  miles  can  you  put  behind  you  be 
tween  this  and  sunset?" 

Dick  pawed  the  ground,  but  he  said  nothing.  Cal 
examined  his  cartridges;  filled  two  or  three  empty 
chambers  in  his  rifle  and  revolver;  tightened  the 
girth  of  his  saddle  a  little;  fixed  his  belt  right — 

"Dick!"  he  shouted.     "Now  for  Santa  Lucia!" 

Away  went  the  red  mustang,  and  if  any  Indians 
had  followed  him,  they  would  have  lost  the  race. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

HOW  THEY  ALL   REACHED  SANTA  LUCIA. 

A  BAND  of  Indians  who  are  in  a  great  hurry 
travel  rapidly,  even  if  now  and  then  they  leave 
a  wornout  pony  behind  them.  They  are  also  pretty 
sure  to  take  short  cuts  and  to  save  distances,  and 
that  was  more  than  Cal  Evans  was  able  to  do. 

The  Chiricahua  scouts  with  Captain  Moore  knew 
every  inch  of  the  country,  and  did  not  permit  the 
cavalry  and  cowboys  to  do  any  needless  travelling. 

Late  in  the  forenoon  of  the  third  day  after 
Ping's  first  and  last  ride  upon  the  "heap  pony,"  all 
was  serenely  quiet  at  Santa  Lucia.  It  was  too  quiet, 
altogether,  because  its  inmates  were  in  such  blue 
anxiety  that  they  did  not  feel  like  doing  anything. 
Reading  was  impossible,  and  any  effort  at  conversa 
tion  did  but  repeat  the  regret  that  there  was  no  news 
from  Cal  or  his  father.  The  failure  of  everything 
else  accounted  for  the  fact  that  at  this  hour  Vic  and 
her  mother  were  upon  the  roof,  sweeping  the  hori 
zon  with  the  fieldglass. 

Suddenly  Mrs.  Evans  held  out  the  glass,  exclaim 
ing:  "Look!  Vic!  Cavalry!" 

"Oh !"  shouted  Vic,  and  in  a  moment  more  they 
were  hurrying  down  and  out  of  the  hacienda. 

A  roll  of  the  prairie  had  hidden  the  approach  of 
a  column  of  mounted  men  until  they  were  pretty 

239 


24o  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

near,  and  now  all  who  wore  uniform  and  a  number 
of  others  halted  at  a  hundred  yards  from  the  stock 
ade  gate  at  which  Mrs.  Evans  and  Vic  were  stand 
ing.  One  man  dismounted  and  walked  forward, 
leading  by  the  hand  a  strangely  dressed  but  comely- 
looking  Indian  girl.  His  face  was  flushed  and 
troubled,  and  the  eyes  of  the  girl  glanced  timidly  in 
all  directions,  as  if  seeking  a  means  of  escape  from 
meeting  those  two  pale-face  squaws. 

"Husband!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Evans,  turning  very 
pale,  "where  is  Cal?" 

"Cal!"  echoed  Vic,  with  painful  eagerness. 

"He  is  a  prisoner,"  faltered  the  colonel. 

"Father!"  almost  screamed  Vic.  "The  Apaches 
have  got  him?" 

"The  same  band  that  took  the  horses,  and  that 
this  girl  belongs  to.  Vic,  this  is  Tah-nu-nu.  We 
shall  hear  from  Cal." 

It  was  dreadful  news,  and  it  was  not  possible  to 
hear  it  calmly,  but  Captain  Moore  now  rode  up  and 
so  did  Sam  Herrick.  They  had  wished  that  first 
meeting  over,  and  the  report  of  Cal's  captivity  made 
without  their  being  too  near.  Mrs.  Evans  man 
aged  to  maintain  her  dignity  fairly  well  to  receive 
them,  but  they  found  Vic  in  an  uncontrollable  fit  of 
crying. 

"Vic,"  said  her  father,  "don't  cry.  Cal  will  surely 
come  back  soon,  safe  and  sound.  Take  Tah-nu-nu 
into  the  house." 

At  that  moment  they  were  all  startled  by  a  burst 
of  cheering  from  the  mounted  men.  Cheer  followed 
cheer,  and  as  the  group  at  the  gate  turned  to  look, 
they  saw  a  rider  who  dashed  past  the  cavalry  at  full 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  241 

gallop.    He  was  swinging  his  hat  tremendously,  but 
seemed  unable  to  hurrah. 

"Colorado !"  shouted  Sam  Herrick.  "Cal  and  the 
red  mustang!" 

After  that  nobody  could  have  told  what  was  said 
by  anybody  during  a  full  three  minutes.  Then  there 
came  a  sort  of  breathing-spell  that  was  almost  si 
lence.  They  had  begun  to  walk  towards  the  house, 
and  Vic  was  leading  Tah-nu-nu  a  little  in  advance  of 
the  rest. 

"How  did  you  say  you  managed  to  get  away  from 
Kah-go-mish  ?"  asked  Captain  Moore. 

"It's  a  pretty  long  story,"  said  Cal,  "but  there 
isn't  any  Kah-go-mish.  He  was  killed  in  a  fight 
with  the  Mexicans." 

"Did  Ping  get  in  before  you  left  them?"  asked 
Colonel  Evans. 

"Yes,  he  did,  father.  I  felt  real  bad  about 
that.  Such  a  young  fellow.  Not  any  older  than  I 
am." 

"Killed,  was  he?  Colorado!  I'm  sorry,"  ex 
claimed  Sam  Herrick. 

The  leading  features  of  Cal's  capture  and  escape 
had  already  been  told,  but  they  were  now  gone  over 
more  minutely,  and  it  was  determined  not  at  once 
to  tell  Tah-nu-nu. 

"I  must  think  the  matter  over,"  said  Mrs.  Evans. 
"Poor  little  thing!" 

That  was  what  Vic  said,  but  she  took  Tah-nu-nu 
to  her  own  room,  and  the  shy,  frightened  look  of  the 
lonely  Indian  girl  began  to  turn  into  one  of  relief, 
but  also  of  intense  curiosity.  She  saw  nothing  but 
friendliness  in  the  face  of  Vic,  and  at  last  she 


242  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

remarked:  "Tah-nu-nu  glad  Heap  Pony  get 
away." 

Vic  could  laugh  heartily  at  that,  and  she  was 
joined  by  Tah-nu-nu  when  the  chief's  daughter  dis 
covered  what  was  next  expected  of  her.  She  rebelled 
stoutly  at  first,  but  Vic  was  determined  to  have  her 
own  way,  and  when  they  came  out  again  Tah-nu-nu 
was  too  proud  and  shy  to  utter  a  word.  She  wanted 
to  run  away  and  hide,  and  yet  she  wished  to  be  seen 
in  her  new  outfit,  for  Vic  had  put  upon  her  a  dress 
which  she  herself  had  refused  to  wear  because  it  was 
too  brightly  gay  for  her  sense  of  dignity.  Tah-nu-nu 
had  very  pretty  moccasins  of  her  own,  and  now,  with 
white  metal  ornaments  at  her  throat  and  upon  her 
wrists,  and  with  a  bright  ribbon  in  her  coal-black 
hair,  she  was  the  best-dressed  girl  of  the  Mescalero 
Apaches. 

It  seemed  too  bad  to  tell  her  any  saddening  news 
then,  and  during  all  the  rest  of  that  day  Tah-nu-nu 
was  treated  as  an  Indian  gentleman's  daughter  on  a 
visit  to  Santa  Lucia. 

It  was  a  great  day  for  Tah-nu-nu,  and  Norah 
McLory  and  the  Mexican  servants  were  explaining 
to  her  the  wonders  of  the  kitchen  during  the  long 
time  spent  by  Cal  in  telling  the  minute  particulars 
of  his  adventures  in  the  Cold  Spring  chaparral  and 
in  Mexico.  His  mother  and  Vic  seemed  disposed 
to  keep  their  hands  upon  him,  from  the  beginning  to 
the  end  of  his  story,  as  if  for  fear  that  he  might 
again  be  lost  or  captured. 

Captain  Moore  and  his  cavalry  camped  near 
Santa  Lucia  that  night,  and  marched  away  early  in 
the  morning. 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  243 

Tah-nu-nu  awoke  in  a  pale-face  bed,  in  a  great 
lodge,  such  as  she  had  seen  before  but  never  en 
tered,  and  she  hardly  felt  like  a  prisoner. 

"Kah-go-mish  is  a  great  chief,"  she  said,  for 
her  first  thought  was  of  his  coming  for  her 
release. 

An  hour  or  two  later  she  and  Vic  and  Cal  took  a 
long  horseback  ride,  and  once  more  Tah-nu-nu  ad 
mired  the  uheap  pony."  She  was  beginning  to  feel 
very  much  at  ease,  especially  with  Cal,  for  he  had 
been  acquainted  with  her  family. 

They  had  been  back  at  the  ranch  but  a  short  time 
when  Sam  Herrick  came  in  and  beckoned  to  Colonel 
Evans. 

"What  is  it,  Sam?" 

"Colorado !"  exclaimed  Sam.  "There's  an  Indian 
and  a  squaw  come.  The  red  mustang  was  out  there, 
and  the  Indian  whooped  when  he  sot  eyes  onto  him. 
They  want  to  see  Pull  Stick." 

"That's  my  name !"  shouted  Cal,  and  he  sprang 
up  and  hurried  out. 

He  was  followed  by  everybody  but  Tah-nu-nu, 
and  in  a  moment  he  was  shaking  hands  with  Crooked 
Nose  and  Wah-wah-o-be. 

Their  errand  was  briefly  given.  The  whole  band, 
what  was  left  of  it,  had  decided  to  return  to  the 
Reservation.  They  knew  that  in  order  to  do  so 
safely  they  must  give  up  the  Santa  Lucia  horses,  and 
they  had  sent  Wah-wah-o-be  to  say  that  they  were 
ready  to  do  it.  What  they  did  not  add  was  that 
they  were  rich  enough  with  the  other  quadrupeds 
won  by  Kah-go-mish  in  his  successful  war  with 
Mexico.  They  wished  to  have  word  sent  to  the 


244  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

blue-coats.  Nobody  need  follow  them,  and  the 
horses  belonging  to  Colonel  Evans  would  be  deliv 
ered  next  day,  with  two  good  Mexican  mules  to  pay 
for  his  cattle.  It  was  a  capital  bargain  for  him,  and 
reduced  his  loss  to  a  low  figure.  He  agreed 
to  it  at  once,  and  then  Wah-wah-o-be  asked  for 
Tah-nu-nu. 

"We  are  going  to  keep  her,"  said  Mrs.  Evans. 
"We  will  keep  you,  too,  if  you  will  come.  You  need 
not  go  to  the  Reservation." 

Wah-wah-o-be's  blanket  came  up  over  her  head, 
and  her  loud,  wailing  cry  was  heard  in  the  adobe. 
In  a  moment  more  Tah-nu-nu's  arms  were  around 
her  mother,  and  she  knew  that  she  should  never 
again  see  Kah-go-mish  or  The-boy-whose-ear-pushed- 
away-a-piece-of-lead. 

Down  upon  the  ground  they  sat,  the  great  chief's 
wife  and  daughter,  and  it  was  hours  before  they 
could  be  persuaded  to  speak  or  to  come  into  the 
house.  When  they  at  last  did  so,  the  mind  of 
Wah-wah-o-be  was  made  up.  Kah-go-mish  had  de 
clared  that  he  would  never  return  to  the  Reserva 
tion.  Whatever  others  might  do,  therefore,  she 
would  not.  Her  proud  position  in  her  band  was 
also  gone,  with  her  wise,  brave  husband  and  her 
promising  son.  She  was  ready  to  consent  that 
Tah-nu-nu  should  remain  at  Santa  Lucia.  She  would 
herself  come  back  and  bring  her  property  with 
her. 

Tah-nu-nu  would  hardly  have  consented  if  it  had 
not  been  for  the  positive  commands  of  her  mother, 
and  if  these  had  not  been  helped  by  her  wonderful 
new  dress  and  by  the  urgency  of  Vic.  She  roundly 


THE  RED  MUSTANG  245 

declared,  however,  that  she  would  never  hoe 
corn. 

Crooked  Nose  had  very  little  to  say  after  his  first 
errand  was  completed,  but  just  before  he  rode  away 
he  led  Cal  a  little  to  one  side.  They  were  out  in 
front  of  the  adobe,  and  Dick  was  standing  near 
them,  unsaddled,  unbridled,  very  much  as  if  he  were 
a  house-dog,  with  a  right  to  step  around  anywhere. 

"Ugh!"  said  Crooked  Nose.  "Pull  Stick  get 
away  again.  How?" 

"Heap  Pony,"  said  Cal,  pointing  to  the  red  mus 
tang. 

"Ugh!"  said  Crooked  Nose.  "Who  kill  Tan- 
tan-e-o-tan." 

"Heap  Pony,"  replied  Cal  again. 

"Ugh!  Heap  bad  medicine.  No  like  him.  Pull 
Stick  got  manitou." 

Something  like  that,  in  a  higher  and  better  form, 
was  what  Cal's  mother  had  been  telling  him.  She 
also  declared  that  she  meant  to  do  all  in  her  power 
for  the  squaw  who  brought  Cal  his  gourd  of  water 
when  he  was  all  but  dying  of  thirst,  and  for  her 
bright-eyed  daughter.  Something  very  good  was, 
therefore,  in  store  for  Tah-nu-nu.  Perhaps  it  was 
something  which  Ping  could  not  or  would  not  have 
taken. 

Wah-wah-o-be  kept  her  word,  and  when  she  re 
turned  she  brought  quite  a  drove  of  horses,  mules, 
and  ponies  with  her,  as  the  property  of  Kah-go-mish, 
and  Colonel  Romero  was  not  there  to  identify  any 
of  them.  Cal  did  not  know  one  from  another, 
whether  they  were  Apache  bred  or  Mexican,  and  he 
said  so. 


246  THE  RED  MUSTANG 

There  was  really  but  one  horse  in  the  world  that 
he  cared  much  about.  In  fact,  not  only  he  and  his 
family,  but  the  cowboys  and  Wah-wah-o-be  and 
Tah-nu-nu  were  disposed  to  attach  an  almost  human 
idea  to  the  uncommon  qualities  of  head  and  heart 
which  had  been  displayed  by  the  red  mustang. 


THE  END. 


UCLA-Young  Research  Library 

PS2941    .R42   1918 


L  009  603  742   9 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


AA    001  228  221    6 


